Brother
by Lady Blackwater
Summary: Steve Rogers is normal. He's good. He's untainted paradise. He never goes looking for trouble, but trouble just might look out for him when it moves next door in the form of a guy with a metal arm and his Russian ballerina daughter. (Insp. by Brother by Matt Corby)
1. 1

**A/N I've decided that 2015 is the year I stop being an asshole...when it comes to fanfiction. Last year (and some of 2013) I told myself that after _The Baby Doll Series_, I was done with fanfiction. Clearly, that was a lie because I started_ Kings &amp; Vagabonds_ and left all my faithful readers hanging. But it's a new day, kitties. I'm back..._for now._ I promise to have _Kings &amp; Vagabonds_ \- as well as this fic - done by the end of 2015. **

**I apologize for the wait. **

**However, as you can all see, is not one of my usual Blackwater story. In the passed few years (since about 2010), I've realized that my heart and soul lies with Captain America and all things Marvel, so this is a bit different for me. To all my dedicated Blackwater readers if any of you still exist, do not freight. I will not abandon you. My loyalty at the moment lies with my new favorite OTP, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, hence this story. **

**So, please sit back, relax, and eat some popcorn. **

**And don't hate me. **

**Enjoy. **

Steve gets lost in his work - like really lost. If Steve took a sketch seriously enough, he could easily draw in a hypnotized state through the loudest of distractions like a cook timer ringing in the kitchen or the persistent buzzing of his cell phone whenever Sam, his VA buddy, texted him.

You could guess that it kept Steve leveled. It was his safe haven, sketching. Memories of his tours Afghanistan had a undesirable way of creeping into his mindset despite his positive attitude and seemingly cozy lifestyle. Steve knew he was safe now, back home in his apartment, but that didn't stop anxiety attacks or waking up in the middle of the night drenched in tears or sweat or sometimes both in a frantic fuss over a nightmare.

Steve was a peer acclaimed golden boy - an all-American boy scout that you take home to your parents and helps little old ladies across the street. As far as everybody else was concerned, Steve was literal perfection from his impressive physicality to his dedication in Afghanistan to his artistic talent. Sam went as far as calling him by the nickname he'd acquired while overseas : Captain America. Steve thought of it as a blessing and a curse being so "golden." A lot is expected of him, leaving little room for flaw, yet little did everyone know that even Captain America has his demons.

Except when he draws, he's pure again.

So Steve drew.

Nothing else holds him down to the Earth so sturdily as the safety of knowing he can pick up a pencil, get his sketchpad, and doodle to his little heart's desire. It's Sunday evening - Brooklyn's calmest at this time, so as usual, Steve gets his pad and a pencil and sets himself on a lawn chair on his balcony, taking in the streetlights, the moderately busy streets, the dim stars appearing in the sky, and the...move-in truck?

Steve probably wouldn't have even noticed the truck if he didn't check his peripherals for a moment. A new resident in these apartments wasn't necessarily the shock here that was able to bring Steve out of his work. A cell phone or cook timer couldn't distract Steve, but _he_ certainly could.

Steve stares unintentionally hard, engrossed in this man who was hopping out the passenger seat of the move-in truck. He was pretty tall with legs that seem to go on for miles covered snugly with black skinny jeans and a red and black flannel wrapped around his slim waist. In contrast to his waist, he had a wide chest, broad shoulders, and a strong, lengthy neck that supported a strict jawline and a cleft chin. His more detailed features like his eyes and nose were blurred to Steve for he was on his second story balcony, and he couldn't see that far down, but judging by the way this man - had to be at least twenty-eight or nine - captivated Steve's so easily, he had to be gorgeous. He took note, however, of the lazy, tousled, brunette bun plopped on the man's head. Steve bit his lip not out of desire, but curiously when he leaned forward just a tad over his balcony to get a closer look at his new neighbor.

He watched as he put his arm around the male blonde friend that accompanied him from the driver's seat as they begin to unload the truck.

Steve only watched until it got a little dark and grew bored with the two men going back and forth out of the building. He decides it's time for dinner and begins defrosting some chicken in the microwave. He hears the faint scuffle of furniture and boxes and voices down the hall, probably from where his new neighbors were now living. He did his best to best to let the urge of going down and helping the attractive man get settled subside, being as though he wanted to be nosey as well as find out if the blonde that accompanied the man was his boyfriend.

Steve wasn't the type to pry, so he continued to defrost chicken and boil noodles in a pot in between finishing his sketch from outside with some shading and details. He knew he'd run into his new neighbors eventually so he minded his business for the rest of the night, occupying himself with dinner, a new sketch, and watching TV. Although he does a good job of keeping himself busy, his mind had a tricky way of teasing him into going down the hall and simply introducing himself.  
That polite side of him wants to go down the hall and find where he could offer assistance in welcoming his new neighbors.

In between chomps of his chicken, Steve thinks of paying a visit tomorrow or maybe baking a cake. Except, he'd done that once for Mrs. Duncan, the elderly cat widow who lives directly above him, and she took his welcome a bit more for than what it was by insisting he stay to take a bath and cuddle. Steve had been flattered and slightly creeped out, yet Steve probably wouldn't mind taking a bath and cuddling with his new brunette neighbor.

Shaking his head vigorously to rid his dirty mind of the favorable image, Steve cleans the kitchen and returns back to his drawing of Brooklyn at night in his bedroom after a much needed shower.

He sleeps peacefully, with minimal interruptions, till seven o'clock rolls around and the obnoxious hustle and bustle of Monday morning Brooklyn awake him for he hasn't shut his window last night. Steve was only slightly annoyed to be awakened before his alarm, but instead of going back to bed, he takes these moments to start his routine early. His routine that included washing his face, brushing his teeth, going for a forty-five minute jog around his neighborhood, getting a cup of coffee from his favorite shop, and then returning back to his apartment to shower, get dressed, maybe visit Sam at the VA, and usually spend the rest of his day sketching, paying bills, or even watching TV if his focus would let him. At some point, Steve figures he should want to break his cycle and branch out from his familiar lifestyle after realizing shame in the baristas at his favorite coffee shop already having his order ready when he walks in.

Although Sam had taken pity on his friend's uneventful style of living, Steve was grateful for the structure. His routine, along with drawing, was a safe haven. It was nice knowing he could live comfortably knowing no one would try to throw a grenade at him as he jogs down the street

After drying off from his shower and dressing in his street clothes, Steve grabs the keys to his motorcycles and jogs downstairs to the entrance. In between jogging down the stairs and hopping on his blue and black bike, - named Peggy- Steve couldn't help thinking of maybe knocking on his new Apartment 116's door to formally introduce himself to his new neighbors. It was the polite thing to do, but what if that brunette man was as gorgeous as Steve hoped him out to be? Steve wasn't good at talking to women, and he was no better at talking to men. Men didn't seem to make fun of him as often, though.

Steve parks Peggy in front of the VA office, enters the building, signs in at the front desk, and grabs a name tag before plopping a seat in the back of the empty room. Of course he's early - he always is - while Sam usually shows up last and jump starts right into the session. Sam was a great speaker and shows no judgment as each broken soul in the form of a veteran tells their story and grieves among the group. Steve never speaks, but quietly sits in the back of the room and mentally compares his stories to those he hears. Some people surely have it far worse than him.

The session ends an hour later, and Sam thanks certain individuals for attending while Steve discards of his name tag.

"Well, well, well...looks like even Captain America can take time out of his busy schedule to mingle with me," Sam barks sarcastically when the last attendee leaves. Steve laughs, rolls his eyes in mock annoyance, and spreads his arms open to hug Sam as a greeting.

"_Busy_," Steve repeats as if to try the word out. "You're funny."

Sam smirks and straightens out pamphlets from today's session. "That I am. You must not have shit else to do if you're coming on _this_ side of town."

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. "Actually, I came to support my friend and wonder if he wanted to get lunch with me."

Translation: _You're right, and I need something to occupy me from going back to my empty apartment._

To Steve's benefit, Sam doesn't see through his desperate rouge, and simply nods. "Sounds fun enough."

The two men take Sam's car to their favorite diner, order their usual - two hearty cheeseburgers and waffle fries with strawberry milkshakes - and spend about an hour and a half discussing their weekends and what they have planned for the week. Steve sips his second milkshake as he half listens to Sam go in unnecessary detail about his Friday night date with some girl he'd met at a VA meeting. Whatever parts of the story Steve did pick up, he reacts accordingly so his friend doesn't suspect his disinterest. But, Sam isn't stupid and stops mid-story to examine Steve's dazed out blue eyes and bored smile.

After paying the bill, Steve and Sam return back to the VA to retrieve Peggy. The friends say their goodbye, promise for a lunch date sometime that week, and go their separate ways. By the time Steve returns back to his apartment, it's only two in the afternoon.

Steve regretfully spends the remainder of his Monday sketching, playing old jazz records over his vintage Vinyl record player, and strategizing ways he could introduce himself to his hot neighbor.

* * *

Two failed batches of housewarming brownies for the hot brunette in 116 and three days later, Steve finds himself back in him and Sam's favorite diner, discussing another date that Sam had went on just the day before. This story wasn't as graphic as the last, and Steve found himself listening a little bit better, learning that the young lady's name was Maria, and she apparently works for some secret undercover ops organization that dealt with terrorist threats of the highest degree, leaving her loved ones vulnerable to danger, which, of course, turned Sam on which is why they had another date for Saturday.

Steve was truly happy that Sam found himself someone to distract him from his own demons. As if he read his mind, Sam crosses his arms over his chest with a suggestive look that says_ I've got you figured out. _

"What?" Steve says in between chewing a fry.

Sam quirks a brow and and a smirk so strong that it makes his dark mustache wiggle. "You need a girl, man."

Steve just blinks.

Sam puts his hands up as if to surrender. "Or a boyfriend," he adds, referring loosely to Steve's ever changing sexuality. "Or both."

"Doesn't really work like that," Steve manages to laugh humorously. "Thanks for the suggestion, but I'm gonna steer clear of the dating game."

"You_ have_ been steering clear, bro, and that's the problem," Sam retaliates, leaning in forward to whisper the next part of his sentence. "Steve, it's been eight years since-"

Knowing exactly what he was going to say, Steve puts a halting hand up and groans dramatically. "_Sam._"

Realizing that he was stepping into dangerous territory, Sam just leans back on his side of the booth and shakes his head in defeat. "Steve, I just want you to be-"

"I am," he insists, not fully sure of _what_ Sam wants him to be. Sam's a good friend, maybe even his best friend, and although Steve was aware of Sam's worry over him, Steve didn't need the push. As mentioned before, he likes his bubble. His regular routine and boring life was safe for him. He didn't need a girlfriend, boyfriend, or anything or anyone else to infiltrate that bubble to make his life more or less than what it is. Sam means well, he gets that, but for now, he didn't need anything else but his apartment and sketchpad.

After a minute or two of pouting and pleading this case, Sam lets Steve drop the subject and they finish their meal with little conversation. They hit up a sports bar afterwards to bet some loose change on a game of pool. Steve wins three times out of four games, making him twenty dollars richer, resulting in Sam calling it a night and taking Steve back home. Before getting out the car, Sam stops Steve and points across the street of the apartment building at the same move-in truck that appeared last Sunday.

"New neighbors?" he asks.

The beads of sweat trickle very slowly yet noticeable down Steve's forehead when he remembers how bothered he'd become at how_ fucking attractive_ the resident in 116 is. He gets unintentionally jealous of whoever the blonde man was with his should be romantic interest as much as he gets frustrated that he hadn't introduced himself yet and couldn't even make a respectable batch of brownies without setting his kitchen on fire or adding too much of a certain ingredient.

Steve gulps harshly and tries to coolly unbuckle his seat belt. "Guess so," he answers about thirty seconds later, aware that his stalling seemed to nearly give away his deep infatuation with knowing more about 116. Steve lets out a sigh of relief when Sam just nods and doesn't press the matter further, despite noticing that his friend's entire aura shifted when he mentioned the move-in truck.

On his way to his apartment, Steve stalls up the stairs with the slight hope that he'd maybe pass his new neighbors. Making the turn down the hall to his own apartment, he slowly takes out his keys and holds his breath carefully trying to at least hear something from his neighbors. There's sadly no sign of them, so as soon as Steve enters his apartment, he takes his sudden frustration out on a sketch he hadn't finished. He goes to bed that night deciding that he wouldn't let 116 bother him any further. It's only fair that they'd been living there for five days already and hadn't taken the initiative to introduce themselves either, so Steve shouldn't go out of his way to do the same.

Steve slept a solid eight hours and awoke at his usual time that Friday morning. Everything was normal as usual until Steve opens his door to begin his jog and has no clue what to make of the unusually large pink gift box with several holes poked into the sides on his doormat. The giant bow on top of the bow had a folded note attached to it, and Steve felt a bit more relaxed seeing Sam's terrible penmanship.

_"Because human girlfriends are too high maintenance and pets usually look like their owners,"_ Steve reads aloud and shoots his baby blues halfway out of his head when he kneels before the box and snatches the top off in a hurry. Steve's worst fears are confirmed when he's met face to face, well face to _snout_, with a clean coated, confused and absolutely adorable golden retriever puppy who clearly looks as though she's just as surprised to see Steve as Steve is to see her.

Steve's first instinct is to groan, but instead he sighs with much effort and lifts the animal from her packaging after staring at her for about two minutes. He sets her on his wooden floor and automatically feels bad when she struggles to stay up on all four paws. He immediately lifts her again and reaches for his phone to call Sam. In between rings, she squirms in Steve's huge arms and makes herself comfortable with him already by sniffing his face and neck.

When Sam finally picks up, the clear attempt at trying to mask his amusement is failed.

"You think this is funny," Steve states as more of fact than question.

"Not funny," Sam says cheerfully. "You wouldn't let me find you a partner, so this was the next best thing."

"A dog?" Steve tries to confirm, balancing his new pet in one arm as she happily licks his face. It tickles, but Steve won't let himself admit that it does. "You thought a dog would be the next best thing."

"Cute, isn't she?"

_Yeah._ "I can't keep her," Steve says.

"Right, with your busy schedule and all," he deadpans, probably enjoying this far more than he should. "I've got a VA session in a few that I'd love to invite you to, but you've got a newborn daughter to tend to. See ya, Ste-"

"Wait," Steve's voice escalates only slightly, making his pup jump and he hadn't even noticed he was caressing the soft fur along her back with his cheek until she does. "What's her name?"

"I'll leave that for you to decide. Gotta go, man. Text me later," Sam sighs happily and hangs up. Steve puts his cell phone back into his pocket and inspects his new companion, holding her as though she were an actual newborn baby, searching for distinctive features that'll trigger a suitable name. He stares hard at her again, and she stares back with adoring brown eyes that remind him of a former lover.

His sigh is almost of defeat than resolution.

"Peggy's already taken. You like the name Carter?"

The pup in his arms sniffs his chin and runs her tongue over the skin as though she's consenting to this new name.

* * *

So, instead of jogging around the block for forty-five minutes, Steve finds himself searching the internet for pet shops while Carter sits in his lap, doing everything in her power to grab his attention to be petted. When Steve finds one nearby, he grabs his wallet and since he doesn't have a leash, he continues to carry Carter in his muscles bulges for arms. She seems so much smaller than she really is when he holds her.

Unable to take his eyes off of his new baby, he isn't surprised when he runs hurriedly into another human being, causing Carter to yelp in shock and Steve's head to jerk up to apologize. He barely has to look up much though.

"_Oh_, I'm sorry! Is he okay?"

Instead of an adult, Steve is looking down at a maybe five or six year old ballerina whose light brown hair is wrapped neatly into a sock bun atop her head showing off her fair skin, kempt dark eyebrows, curly eyelashes that surround her sea green eyes, heart shaped face, and comically big ears that hold a pair of pale pearl earrings that match her white leotard, tights and sneakers She had on a light jacket fit for the shifting summer to autumn season.

"_She_," he corrects the little girl, petting Carter soothingly. "She's okay."

"Oh," she says. "Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"It's fine," Steve assures her politely.

Her expression grows grateful. "What's her name?" She wonders, hesitantly stretching her hand forward to pet the puppy. Steve shows his consent by leaning forward to her level, allowing her to graze her hands gently over the animal. Carter sniffs her hand for a moment then relaxes back into Steve's bicep.

"Her name's Carter," he answers proudly then reviews her outfit once more. "What's with the_ Swan Lake_ get up?"

"I was practicing for my audition."

Steve already seems impressed. "Audition?"

"I'm a dancer," she points out, smiling brightly when Steve's interest seems peaked. "The school I'm going to this fall has a great dance program, and you gotta audition."

She speaks quite fluently for a five year old. He'd ask her age, but he's not sure if that crosses an awkward line into pedophilia. To be safe, he decides to say the first goodbye.

Before he can open his mouth to do so, the little girl's attention is directed elsewhere when a man sternly calls out "_Mischka_!" from the apartment entrance.

"Ready to go?" He asks her and Steve recognizes him as the blonde friend that'd been with 116 last Sunday. He finds a lump forming in his throat when he takes in his protective stance.

"Coming, Clint!" She calls to him.

_Clint_, Steve notes. Clint and _Mischka_? Such an odd name.

"Gotta go," she shrugs and pets Carter once more. "See ya!"

And just like that, she's at the blonde man's side, clutching onto his hip as they walk towards the move-in truck across the street. Steve doesn't stay to watch them drive off for fear of the blonde man getting a good look at his face.

He makes it to the pet shop in fifteen minutes and gets the essentials for Carter such as a doggy bed, toys, food, a sparkly leash and bowls to eat out of. He thoroughly checks a collar name rack in search of her name and finds one with a design he likes. Nearly a hundred dollars and a spoiled pup later, Carter was on a leash and trotting happily around Brooklyn with her new daddy.

The move-in truck isn't parked across the street much to Steve's pleasure when he and Carter arrive back to their apartment. System now broken, he feeds her and then himself and as he does so, he's thinking of ways to get her to scram when she sits at his side, staring between him and his plate of stir fry.

"I don't care how cute you are," he tells her. "You have food." He waves his hand authoritively towards her half empty food bowl, but she doesn't even nudge. It takes till she starts whining and clawing at Steve's thigh before he gives in and feeds her a piece of chicken. He takes her on another walk a few hours later, and calls Sam again to reluctantly tell him that he's keeping her. Sam obviously feels triumphant when they hang up, making Steve eyes roll in a faulty fashion.

By the time they arrive back to the apartment, the move-in truck has returned, and Steve all but tries to plays it cool when he sees the male blonde, Clint, in passing as he climbs up the stairs. Instead of proving this man's suspicion of him being a pedophile for talking to Mischka - who Steve is assuming is his daughter - he stops him just before he makes his first step downstairs and extends a hand.

"You must be in 116. Welcome! I'm Steve Rogers," he introduces himself confidently with his hand out, shoulders squared and stance steady. "And this one," he says, lightly tugging Carter's leash when she tries to jump excitedly upon Clint's shins for attention. "This is Carter."

Surprisingly, Clint's expression is warm when he sturdily takes Steve's hand and shakes respectively. "Clint Barton," he says and gives Carter the satisfaction of a few scratches behind the ear. "Well, hello, Carter. Nice to meet you, too."

Steve hadn't even known he was holding in a breath till he finally exhales.

"Actually, I'm not in 116. I don't even live in this neighborhood," he continues smoothly, coming back to Steve's level and leaning casually on the metal railing. His blue eyes were almost piercing.

"Oh?" Steve replies, pretending that he's merely interested when Lord knows he pressed as all hell for any type of information about the fine ass resident in 116.

He shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "I'm just a friend helping out a friend. James has been really swamped lately with work and taking care of Mischka and -"

"_James_?" Steve repeats._ So 116 has a name._

"Yeah," he says as though it should've been obvious. "Him and his daughter just moved last Sunday. He's kinda shy."

For some odd and twisted reason, 116 just became hotter. "Oh, the little one? That's-"

"Yup," Clint clarifies. "That's little Mischka," he says with a humorous chuckle. "She seem to take a bit of a liking to you. Said you were cute."

A simple compliment like that shouldn't make Steve's cheeks flush as pink as they do. "Oh. How nice."

Clint nods as though he agrees and gives Carter a dismissing pet across the face. "Well, I should be going. Wouldn't want the missus thinking I'm up to no good," he says, shaking Steve's hand once more. Before he makes his journey downstairs, he leans forward, touching Steve on the shoulder so he'll do the same.

"Would you mind just popping in on them every so often? As a favor to me? _Please_?" He asks softly, nearly desperately.

That alarms Steve as much as it satisfies him, giving him a reason to meet and associate with 116. But why would a grown man and his daughter need such a thing?

"Sure," Steve says absentmindedly, ignoring Carter's whines to go into the apartment.

Clint pats his back lightly and smiles again. "Thank you. I'll see you soon," the way Clint says this makes as though they have a secret. Steve just nods, watches him leave in wonder, and goes back into his apartment. That night he struggle to sleep, mainly because Carter is sprawled across his forehead and partially because he suddenly worries for his neighbors.


	2. 2

Carter quickly becomes the apple of Steve's baby blue eyes after a few short weeks. She's broken his routine in the slightest by accompanying him on his jogs and forcing him to switch to a different coffee shop with outdoor dining due to the no pets policy his favorite one held.

Him and Sam have lunch regularly after every VA meeting Steve attends. Steve finds himself opening up more and more to Sam since getting Carter and breaking the ice with Clint and Mishcka.

And speaking of his neighbors, he's seen the little girl around the building so often that he feels so disturbed to know that every Sunday Clint comes by to take her to a ballet class at four-thirty on the dot. He had spoken to the ballerina once or twice since first meeting her, and yet there wasn't any trace of her father, James.

Carter occupied Steve's time, but that she didn't stop him from trying to figure out clever ways to officially meet this mysterious James. Having still not seen him, Steve fabricated the illogical reasoning that he didn't exist and that he had subconsciously created an entire person from his lonely imagination.

But although Steve isn't as lonely as he usually is nowadays, Carter doesn't fill the void in Steve's life that wanted to explore sensual and romantic feelings. Steve would probably never admit it to himself, but he yearned for a companion that didn't pee on his carpet or need to be walked three times a day. He'd ignore how badly he truly wanted another human tucked into the safe enclosure of his arms at night while they peppered his neck with light, chaste kisses. The last time he'd experience such a feeling was-

The abrupt and nearly frantic knocking of the front door echoes throughout Steve's apartment, grabbing his and Carter's attention enough to quit their playful yet intense game of tug of war. Carter scrambles and jumps excitedly onto the door with the sound of her collar jingling and her nails tapping lightly on the wooden floor to follow. Her barking is more out of excitement than as a warning to the visitor on the other side. More than likely, it's Sam.

Steve distracts Carter by tossing the white rope they'd been wrestling with in a random direction, and once he's sure she's occupied with that instead of the knocking door, he unlocks it and opens it with a witty greeting for his best friend prepared.

Instead, Steve breath hitches and his pupils dilate to their widest, leaving just a thin ring of blue as his irises when he takes in the man on the other side of the door.

"_Shit_," he gasps under his breath, taking in the fact that he's utterly screwed because this man is _fucking gorgeous._

Everything from his wavy man bun, pale blue - nearly gray - eyes, pouted red lips, square jaw, tall stature, long limbs, and low riding jeans against an exposed Adonis belt and wide, toned hips causes somewhat of an eruption within Steve's chest and stomach. He interprets the way a sharp pain shoots across his clavicle bone and towards his shoulder is the pain of his heart breaking when he takes in his disinclined and uncomfortable stance accompanied by the look of absolute terror across this man's face.

Steve gulps at the same time the man speaks.

"Hey, um, hi," he starts, voice absolutely shot to shit and hoarse like he'd been yelling. He clears his throat. "Um, _please don't_ call child protective services on me, but I lost my daughter."

At first, Steve has no idea what he means nor does he know who the hell this man is. It's when the man fidgets and peers at Steve with guilt and panic when he sees his statement hasn't inflicted a reaction in Steve does Steve blink and try to place a name to a face.

"She's a little girl. She's six. Green eyes. Brown hair. Looks like she could probably strike you dead with one glare. Self acclaimed ballerina," the man begins, gesturing his hands across his body along with the description of his daughter. Steve lets himself focus for a moment when he puts two and two together at the mention of a ballerina.

"_Oh_," Steve says. "You're Mischka's father. James," he continues excitedly, oblivious to James' relief when he says his daughter's name. "Yeah, um, I saw her and your buddy, Clint, leave for some audition bout an hour ago."

The man, James, sighs and a genuine smile cracks along his defaulted scared face when he leans back and covers his face. "Right, right, right," he says to himself more than to Steve. "Ugh, I fell asleep a while ago and completely forgot. Jeez, man, thank you. Guess I tore apart my apartment for nothing," he laughs at himself and shakes his head as though he'd just found a lost dollar instead of his daughter.

Steve nearly dies on the spot when James smirks and offers a hand towards him, catching him off guard and causing him to lean on his door for support because he's sure if he didn't, he'd probably land on top of James.

"James Barnes," he introduces himself officially, right arm extended while the left one stays hidden behind his back. It's rude to do so, but Steve can't help but stare at how James is wearing a burgundy crewneck sweater that's clearly been distressed along the hem judging by the way it'd shows nearly all of James' abdominal like a women's crop top. Before he'd hidden it, James had his left hand exposed, but Steve didn't miss how he wore a black, leather gloves on it yet not on the right one.

Instead of asking, Steve extends a hand and flashes his best and friendliest smile that he prayed was more along the lines of welcoming rather than creepy. "Steve Rogers."

James nods. "Um, yeah, me and my daughter just moved in a while ago. 116."

_Yeah, I fucking know, you attractive little shit._ "Oh, did you?"

The man nods again and loosens his stance but never letting his left arm be seen. "So, _you're_ the famous Steve Rogers?" The sentence comes out playfully, making Steve really fucking excited although he's not sure if he's referring to his honorable veteran reputation or something else.

"Excuse me?"

James continues to smirk. "Mischka hasn't shut up about a 'Steve Rogers' since we moved in. It's nice to put a name to a face."

An immediate rush of heat surfaces along Steve's cheeks, over the bridge of his nose, descending towards his neck, and to the top of his ears. He didn't know why the fuck the comment made him blush so hard; all he knew is that James was really attractive and that the feeling of putting a name to a face -_ a gorgeous ass face_ \- was mutual. To diminish the intensity of his blushing and nerves, Steve decides to normalize their first meeting.

"Do you wanna come in? I could make you some coffee? Tea?"

"Would you count it as our first date?" James jokingly asks but strides past Steve into his apartment anyway. When Steve shuts the door behind him, the rush of air that follows carries a hint of freshly smoked cigarettes and Calvin Klein cologne. The only reason Steve knows that it's Calvin Klein is because he has the same bottle of cologne in his bedroom. It's his favorite actually.

As soon as the husky and masculine mixture of the cigarettes and cologne enter Steve's nose, his nostrils shake while his eyelids flutter closed when he imagines just how fucking sexy James must've looked casually smoking a cigarette on his balcony without his shirt before realizing Mischka was missing. The idea of James doing just about anything was beginning to make the gears pertaining to sexuality and intimacy wind back to life. There was rust, cobwebs, and dust all over those gears but they were beginning to work nonetheless.

"And_ you_ must be Carter!" James exclaims when Steve's pup notices this stranger roaming around the front room of her apartment and springs off the couch to greet him. Seeing as though Steve wasn't threatened by him, Carter doesn't bark or growl but instead tries to jump on James' legs for attention. First thought to Steve's mind to is to reprimand his pup for invading his neighbor's personal space, but when James gets on both knees to be at the pup's level, a smile twinges the edges of his lips. It's an endearing sight.

James ruffles Carter's huge and floppy ears a few time while puckering his lips and making kissy noises at her nose. She responds with lapping his face with her tongue.

"Mischka hasn_'t shut up about getting a dog either," he adds to his earlier statement and stands from petting her head although she doesn't let up on giving and getting affection to and from James._

_"Yeah, your daughter's_ a nice kid," Steve says after contemplating how to respond without seeming odd. "Actually, my best friend, Sam, got Carter for me as a, ugh, present."

James smiles. "Gotta have friends, huh?"

Steve returns the smile and gestures his hands towards his kitchen. "So, um, coffee? Maybe we could sit and talk a bit till Clint and Mischka get back. You can take your shoes off if you wanna."

"Rogers, you know how to make a guy feel welcome," James teases at how unnecessarily nervous Steve is. Steve can't help but continue to blush even harder when he notices that James notices how flustered he has him.

He leads James into his open concept kitchen featured with updated, stainless steel appliances such as a voice automated microwave and a motion detected refrigerator, which elicits an impressed whistle out of James.

"Well, _damn_," he comments and runs his right hand over the marble island before plopping a seat at one on the white, wooden bar stools. "Swanky."

Steve turns his back to James, facing the counter as he prepares their coffee. "Yeah, um, benefits of having the ever so innovative engineer Tony Stark for a friend. I'm sort of a guinea pig for all his newer inventions," Steve admits, only now realizing that he'd hadn't spoken to Tony in a while. He shrugs it off and makes a mental note to contact him later in the week for lunch. Distracted by James' sudden silence at Stark's mention, he turns back around after pressing a button on the high tech coffee machine.

"Um, ya know? Tony Stark? Howard Stark's son? CEO of_ Stark Industries_? Clean energy enthusiast? Royal jackass," Steve says as if James would know who he's talking about. James just shrugs, unfazed and bored, a complete one-eighty versus how he'd first been when he stepped into the kitchen.

"Yeah, I know him," James sneers, grey eyes wandering anywhere but Steve's lingering stare. "Used to make weaponry, yeah?"

The tone in which James has taken is uncomfortable and nearly hostile as though Stark himself had pissed in his cereal this morning.

"Um, yeah," Steve answers, unsure.

James blinks slowly. "How do _you_ know _him_?" The hostile tone had reduced back to boredom and disinterest.

Steve gets two mugs from his cabinet and places them on the counter while he retrieves creamer from the refrigerator. "I was serving over in Afghanistan, and _Stark Industries_ sent over a lot of, ugh, _advanced_ material," Steve explains simply and grabs a spoon from the drying rack. Advanced was such an inaccurate word for the hellish weapons and machinery that they'd been shipped. "When I came home, Stark invited my unit and then some over to Stark Tower for a homecoming slash farewell party for those of us who made it and those who weren't so lucky."

"How generous," James deadpans, not even attempting to secure his sarcasm for the sake of Steve's friendship with Tony.

Steve laughs it off regardless and shrugs while he pours the coffee into the two mugs and pours sugar and creamer into his own. "Yeah, I guess," he agrees and shrugs. "In fact, Tony was so generous as to ask me on a date the same night. How do you like your coffee?"

"Black," James answers and carefully retrieves the hot mug from Steve with one hand and takes a loud and long slurp, ignoring the steam emitting from the contents inside. "And how'd_ that_ work out? The date."

In all honesty, Steve remembers the night being quite fun. It was the first date he'd been on since-

Steve distracts himself with a scorching sip of his coffee. "It was nice. We figured we're better as friends though."

James sets his mug onto the island. "So, you're, um, -" he swallows hard and rattles his head about in search of words, making the loose and escaped strands of hair sway about over his face. "Never mind."

"No, say it!" He says playfully. "Tony Stark doesn't really seem my type, eh?"

"I guess that's along the lines of what I wanted to say," James snickers and takes another sip of his coffee.

An hour and two more cups of coffee blissfully fly by between the two of them. Topics such as Steve's time in Afghanistan (in which James laughs disrespectfully at the cheesy 'Captain America' nickname but Steve doesn't take it to heart), how his passion for art ventured him to become a graphic designer for online comic books and novels, and his childhood in Brooklyn are touched upon only to reveal that he and James grew up in the same neighborhood.

"What? How didn't we meet when we were kids?" Steve had asked incredulously.

"Sent to military school after I'd gotten arrested for vandalizing my middle school principal's car." James responds with smug grin, proud of his actions.

Steve all but pours his dear soul to James about his sickly childhood dealing with asthma, being deaf in one ear, - something he learns he has in common with Clint according to James - high blood pressure, anemia, and much more. James doesn't believe his ears when Steve tells him he used to be 5'4 and approximately one hundred pounds on a good day.

"Jesus, Rogers, how're you alive?"

"My mom and Dr. Erskine were fairly good friends. Medicine does wonders."

"Fucking damn," he says, astonished at the perfectly healthy, 6'2, brick house soldier of a man who had working lungs, a working immune system, and a functioning heart of gold. "Well, aren't you just the luckiest little punk?"

Steve grins openly and downs the last of his coffee. "Enough about _me_. Tell me something about _you_, James. Any riveting childhood stories? Crazy ex- girlfriends?"

James chuckles quietly but doesn't answer, prompting Steve to believe he'd overstepped his boundaries. He's soon reassured when James just hunches his shoulders, bored face yet again.

"Tell me about Mischka's mom," Steve tries.

Noticing the physical tension that James emits at the mention of Mischka's mother, Steve shakes his head and tries his damn hardest to not meet his new friend's panicked, expressive, wide, grey eyes.

"Or we don't have to-"

"No, it's fine," he says, demeanor suddenly back to relaxed as he waves it off.

Steve is fascinated how controlled and quick James' ability to switch between emotions is. It must be practiced or regulatory.

"It's just not a lot of people ask me about her too often anymore," he chuckles as though he has inside joke with himself.

"Why?" Steve feels inclined to ask and expect a simple answer.

"Well, she's dead."

James must hear Steve gulp because he smiles at him soothingly, successfully relaxing him just as he did himself a moment ago.

"Hey, don't feel bad, Rogers."

"I'm sorry. I just-"

"No, really, it's fine. Trust me. It was a long time ago. Mischka doesn't even remember her. Best that way, I suppose," James assures Steve almost apologetically like he'd done something wrong.

"What was her name?"

"Natasha," James tells him proudly, tapping his right fingers against the island top. "Natasha Romanoff. Ah, man, Steve. She was an absolute babe. Dated Clint for a while before agreeing to marrying me."

The idea of James being so domestic as to be someone's husband does odd flips and flops for Steve's stomach. He loves it.

"How long were you-" Steve begins to ask but is abruptly interrupted by the obnoxious jingle of James' cellphone. The sound catches them both off guard, and James grabs it immediately to press decline but hesitates when he reads the caller ID. He looks flushed and almost embarrassed when he glances at Steve under long eyelashes.

"Can I take this in the other room?" James as, gesturing towards the open living room space.

Steve nods and James apologizes as he's answering the call and standing up from the table. Steve has the decency to attempt to not listen to the conversation that James is failing to have in a hushed tone. Carter, who was napping on the sofa, trots into the kitchen to sit beside Steve's shins as though she understands that James is in need of privacy. He washes out their mugs in an attempt to be sneaky and listen in on the conversation, but soon feels guilty and sits back at the table.

"It's not that _right now_ isn't a good time," he's muttering, clearly annoyed. "It's just a heads up would've been ideal."

A few beats of silence pass and Steve pets Carter lovingly just to do something with his hands which are pretty clammy just from being in James' presence.

"So I guess this means it'll be extra tonight?" James concludes to whoever and his voice goes shrill. "You sure you can swing that?"

Not because he's hungry but because he needs something to do, Steve washes his hands and takes out some vegetables from the fridge and gets a cutting board to start on some stir fry. James is on the phone for about another minute and a half before the shift in his tone of voice makes Steve's stomach flop again as well as the blush to return to his cheeks and neck. Steve ignores the way his body reacts when James goes submissive at whoever is on the other line.

"_Yes, sir,_ he replies multiple times, letting his words slur yet sound so defiant and indignant like a child trying to appease their parent after being reprimanded. Steve doesn't even try to not look like he's eavesdropping when James has his back turned.

"Anything for you, _sir,_" he says, letting this unknown sensual drawl take over. "Gimme ten minutes?"

There's another pause. Steve glances over at Carter to check if she sees him struggling. She's napping on the kitchen floor, and Steve nearly breaks a nail gripping the edge of the counter so fucking hard to resist the way yet another one of James' attitude shifts makes him feel. He wouldn't classify himself as a lewd person, but Lord knows that if James were his, Steve would have virtually no issue in bending him over a table or pinning him against a wall, making him make such sounds and pleas like the ones he's using over the phone. Steve shuts his eyes when he subconsciously imagines James on his knees before him, tears in his eyes, and choking himself over Steve's dick.

"_No_," Steve tells himself low enough so James won't hear when he hangs up the call.

"Hey, sorry 'bout that man," James apologizes and struts lazily over to where Steve is standing at the counter to clap him on the back. "I hate to cut our date short, but my boss just called me in for work."

_He talks to his boss like that?_ Steve pretends that aspect of the conversation he just heard doesn't turn him on. He also pretends to not notice James teasing him by calling their time together a date.

"Oh, bummer," Steve responds. "I was about to get a little lunch going. Was gonna ask if you wanted to join me." That maybe a lie, but James didn't have to know that.

James grins anyway and shakes his head from side to side, disappointed but not showing it.

"What a nice gesture," he says fondly, tucking his phone into his pocket and patting Steve on the shoulder with the lightest of touches. The internal struggle to not grab James' arm and shove him frantically against the refrigerator to begin placing delicate kisses along his neck is what causes Steve to just simply smirk for show and lead James to the front room to escort him out.

"Guess Brooklyn isn't as mean as I remember it," he continues and gives Carter one last goodbye pat between her ears.

"I'm as friendly as they come, man," Steve tells him, and in one swift movement opens up the door for James while giving him dap. James returns it and nods.

"Well, hopefully our next date will be something a little more official," James teases yet again, lifting his eyebrows seriously yet that shit eating little smirk remains on his gorgeous face. "I'd love to do this again," he adds as an after thought as he steps out into the hallway, walking backwards to his apartment without tripping or stumbling.

Steve weakly waves once before James flashes him a genuine smile and opens up his apartment door, steps through the threshold, nods, and shuts the door. Steve closes his door as well only to press his back against it and sigh.

After about a few minutes of strained silence, Steve reviews his afternoon with James and _squeals_. Yeah, actually _squeals_.

It killed Steve that not only was he not only was attracted to James, but the simple fact that the man is the fucking epitome of whatever the fuck Steve wanted and not even Steve was sure. Based on their conversation, James seemed to be a pretty normal person that oozed sex appeal yet the innocence and vulnerabilities that Steve saw in his own self. It shows James was human and not just the smooth talking trouble maker he perceived himself to be.

Just after one conversation, Steve was pretty sure he could spend every morning, noon, and night getting to know James. And if that weren't enough, he could spend those same mornings, noons, and nights making James call him sir just as he did his boss.

At the thought of James doing such a thing, involuntarily, a long overdue erection begins to swell within Steve's pants, shocking him. He assess himself, and doesn't think twice about how he'd managed to keep this down while James was here. Fact of the matter is that he's hard now and the only thing he could conjure up to get off to was James.

Steve hadn't masturbated in months. It wasn't part of his routine. He's not even sure if he's gotten this hard this quick in fucking years. Nothings really sparked his interest till now.

It doesn't take long before Steve finds himself hunching over the toilet in the hall bathroom in a lame attempts for his semen to land in the bowl and not on his clean, tile floors while his fist ever so roughly fucks and pumps over his rock hard dick.

The sounds Steve made at first were innocent until he heard in the back of his mind how James had called his boss sir, and almost instantly, the ideal image of James talking to Steve like that made his voice grow in bass and profanity. He sees James on his knees below him, hands behind his back, and hair out of his bun and in a vice grip between Steve's rough fingers.

"Fuck," Steve sighs, nearly breathless. "You want this cock, baby?" He whispers downward. The James in his imagination nods frantically, eyes as wide as saucers, and stance guard as though being asked such a question scares him.

"_Please,_" the man under him whines, fidgeting and just itching to get touched and touch. His hands weren't tied yet he was obeying whoever like a good boy and keeping them behind his back. "_Put your cock in my mouth. Please._"

"Please _what_?" Steve retorts, not stopping his fist for a damn thing.

The imagination glances around in panic as though he was embarrassed not to be seen on his knees, but being denied of such a pleasantry like sucking Steve's dick. He elicits another whine and fucking whimpers.

"_Sir,_" he says finally. "_Please, sir. Put your cock somewhere in me. Please._"

The begging is what made Steve go over the edge. Within precious seconds, Steve had dropped to his knees practically holding onto the side of the toilet for support while he ejaculated an impressive load on the edge of the toilet bowl, missing the water completely. His toes were curling painfully against the leather of the bottom of his shoes yet he didn't give a fuck and the rest of the world was lost to him as he came and shot rope after rope of semen in James' honor.

"Fucking shit," Steve murmurs and juts his hips forward into his hand a few more times to assure he'd ridden himself out properly.

Steve really doesn't feel ashamed about thinking this way of James until he remembers just how scared he had looked when he first came to his door. A layer of disgust shadows Steve when he realizes that look alone made him so hard, yet he'd do just about anything to keep that look off of James' face. He'd spend a fair amount of his time making sure James was okay along with taking care of him like Steve knows he'd deserved to be.

Unfortunately, that'll never happen. Steve knows first hand how painful it is to fall for a straight guy.

He sighs and picks himself up from the floor, grimacing at the mess he'd made. His hand is still secure around his dick, but it's gone soft now.

The sound of Carter's collar jingles within the room, catching Steve's attention. She's laid, relaxed, on the rug in the middle of the bathroom. Her comfort lets him know she'd probably seen everything he just did and heard everything he'd said.

Carter cocks her head up at him with a hint of a doggy smirk as if to bring attention to the fact that Steve is utterly and completely fucked.


	3. 3

It's only about three days after Steve and James first meet that Steve comes home home from his daily jog and begins to hear music from James' and Mischka's apartment. After pressing his ear to the door for a brief moment, he concludes that it's no song he knows, and it's not coming from a radio or stereo. It's nothing too loud or obnoxious like the booming bass of a drum or the shredding notes of an electric guitar. In fact, all that can be heard is a soft and nearly angelic male singer's voice doing runs over an acoustic guitar. Steve listens in the hallway for about ten minutes before he realizes that the voice probably belongs to James.

Steve retreats to his own apartment and makes a mental note to ask if James if he can sing. He was a sucker for a killer singing voice; ask all his exes. He was practically putty in someone's hand if they could sing, and of fucking course, it just so happens that James can sing, too. This was never gonna work out for Steve if James kept making him fall deeper and deeper in a fairy tale's love with him.

He lets Carter loose from her leash and fills her water bowl, ignoring how the sounds from James' apartment travel to his. He pretends to not enjoy the muffled and barely understandable lyrics and guitar notes and goes on with his daily routine. It's not till he comes back from a lunch with Sam that the music stops, and he yearns for it to come back. And eventually it does for about three minutes and stays away for the rest of the day.

Fast forward another three days, and Steve hears the music _again_ after another jog. He listens for longer this time to attempt to make out some lyrics through the door. It nearly frustrates him when he yet again doesn't find familiarity in the song, so instead of worrying himself, he goes back to his apartment and showers. When he goes back out again to get some groceries, the music has stopped, yet when he comes back to his apartment, it's returned.

That Sunday arrives and the music starts up again. It's early in the afternoon when it does and for a moment, Steve didn't think it'd make him so happy to hear the tune again. James' other neighbors must enjoy it too, because no one's complained yet, or else the music would've stopped. Without even realizing, he's humming vaguely along with the fluid strum of the guitar as well as the singer despite not knowing the words. Just when Steve believes what should be the chorus is approaching for a second time, it immediately ceases and Steve probably would never admit that he was upset about it. So he pouts and turns the mute off on his television program to resume watching it like he'd had been before the music began. Carter lays her head in his lap, and he takes that as her way of asking to be scratched between the ears.

The show Steve was watching cuts to a quick commercial in which he uses to run to the kitchen and get himself a snack. Halfway through cutting fruit for a salad, a light knock echoes throughout the apartment, stirring Carter who begins to bark and jump off the couch to the door.

"_Hey_!" Steve exclaims and snaps at her before pointing towards her doggie bed in the middle of the living room space. She calms down and follows her owner's orders in laying in her bed. Thank God for Sam showing him YouTube tutorials on training puppies.

When the knocks start up again, Steve takes long strides and remains patient.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he says under his break and unlocks the door before swinging it open, but doesn't mean to gasp when he takes in a sheepish looking James and his less than enthused daughter who Steve notices has her hair out of it's usual bun for once. The resemblance between the two wasn't obvious till now as Steve takes in the pair. Mischka probably has Natasha's eye color but the cat like shape, dark eyebrows, brown hair, pouted red lips practically scream James.

"Hi," both men choke out at the same time and laugh a bit at doing so. Mischka's face doesn't change.

"Um, hey, man," Steve tries again, gripping the door harder than necessary when he feels his face burning and his hands getting sweaty. This man hadn't even said a damn thing, and Steve was already losing his mind. "What's up?"

"Did I interrupt something?" James asks, half smiling to shield his nervousness. Steve surely didn't pick up on it because if he had, he probably would've gotten more nervous himself and probably laughed himself silly at literally nothing but just the fact at being nervous.

"No, I was making a snack," he answers and James just nods, staring at Steve's face with absolute admiration like making a snack was the most glorious thing Steve could ever do. Steve didn't let himself linger on James' face too long - cus if he did, he'd end up drooling or maybe even kissing him right there and then.

_Get it together, Rogers. Fucking think._

Steve not only avoids James' pointed gaze at him for those reasons, but for God's sake, he'd masturbated to him being a submissive little pet just five minutes after meeting the guy! How was he supposed to look directly into this man's doe-eyed, shiny, grey fucking wonders and not immediately think of just how delicate and willing he'd been in Steve's mind without feeling guilty?

"Hi," he directs his greeting to the six year old now. She gives him a weak wave and stifles a smile when he pokes her dad's stomach as if to alert him. James shakes and blinks multiple times before opening his mouth to continued whatever the fuck he and Steve were exchanging cus it damn sure wasn't a conversation.

"Um, yeah," James starts and pats his daughter's head with his left hand which is covered with a black glove again unlike his right.

Steve pretends not to notice.

"So, the rug rat's babysitter is out of town, and her Uncle Clint isn't answering his phone right now. I have work in ten minutes, and I know we just met and all, but crazy enough,_ I trust you_ enough to ask you to watch after the little brat till I get back this evening," James rushes each word out with a careful pleading tone, clearly anxious, yet afterwards bats his eyelashes at Steve with some sort of bold ambition that it'll make him say yes.

And if honesty is being put on the table, James could get Steve to fucking assassinate the President if he _ever_ used that tone again. That submissive pet from his imagination a week ago returns, and it's not the best thing to think of when said pet is asking for him to babysit his daughter.

"I can pay you what I pay the babysitter if you need-" James begins frantically again when Steve hasn't said anything immediately, but Mischka leans against his side and pokes him a second time as if to tell him to calm down because once she does it, he takes a deep breath to finish, but Steve interrupts him.

"No, no, no," he says. "That's fine. It's perfectly fine. I don't mind watching her for a few hours."

Instantly grateful, James gives Steve a genuinely happy grin and one that isn't usually covered by some innuendo or something of other mischievous nature. Mischka wastes no time stepping past Steve and into the apartment to be greeted happily by Carter.

"Oh, man, Steve," he sighs. "Thanks. This means a lot. I'm sorry for putting this on you so last minute."

"It's fine," Steve insists, unintentionally returning the googly eyes that James is giving him. "It's perfectly fine."

"Are you absolutely sure 'cus I can call -" James' rambles won't seem to be stopping for anything so instinctively, Steve places a firm but reassuring hand upon the side of James' neck and hooks his fingers around the crook as though he weren't about to pull the man in for a kiss.

"James," he says soothingly and presses his fingers into James' soft yet heated skin. James' eyes shoot up immediately and meet Steve's with worry but it quickly diminishes the second Steve non judging gaze accompanies the warm assurance within their friendship that Steve honestly has no problem with him dropping his daughter off to be babysat for a few hours.

For the next couple moments, the two men blatantly stare at each other without saying anything. It feels sort of comfortable just looking at each other and absorbing the other's presence. Steve notices other features of James that he hadn't a week ago like how a light array of tiny, brown freckles are speckled across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes. Steve could probably spend his entire day kissing those freckles and tease how exposed they are in the sunlight. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd comment on how fucking red James is right now, staring at him like he'd wrapped the moon in a lasso and presented it to him.

"Fine," James repeats without purpose, the thirst for Steve practically written all over his face. Mischka probably saw that plain as day because Steve surely couldn't seeming as when it comes to James, he's somewhat of an oblivious fool. This moment was a more than perfect time to ask about the music, but he was just staring and staring. James stares back and doesn't falter when Steve's thumb caresses the curve behind James ear and onto his neck.

Neither man knows exactly why the other is so fascinated with them or why in the hell they've suddenly settled into this unofficial staring contest. All they know is that it's comfortable.

That might've stayed that way till Mischka clears her throat obnoxiously and interjects the two by hugging her dad around the waist.

"Bye, Daddy," she says and squeezes once before pulling back and smiling successfully at grabbing his attention.

James rattles his head and hugs her back. "Oh, right," he mumbles. "Bye, headache. You gonna behave for Steve?"

The child nods and goes to turn away from him, but James grabs her by her arm and twirls her towards him. "Hey," he says more firmly this time. "Are you gonna behave?"

"_Yes,_ Daddy," she sighs, clearly impatient.

He narrows his amused glare at her. "You promise? I don't wanna get back and hear that you've torn his apartment to hell."

"You won't. Go, Daddy. I'll behave!" She squeals, practically pushing her father out into the hallway. He's clearly not giving much of a fight because the six year old moves her 6 foot father with ease.

"Okay, okay," he chuckles and bends down to her level. "Gimme kiss," he requests and purses his lips goofily and there's a quiet smacking sound between their lips meeting briefly. She giggles while he teasingly kisses along her entire face with forced smacking sounds from his puckered lips. Steve holds in a happy sound at the adorable sight.

"Hey," he says again to grab her attention and puts his littlest finger out. "_До конца линии_?"

The fluency of the foreign language that James effortlessly lapsed into causes Steve's head to stand high at attention in surprise. He's even more shocked when Mischka repeats the sentence with the same confidence and hooks her little finger around his and tugs.

"Alright, I should be back around eight. Is that okay?" James asks Steve and begins to walk backwards towards the stairs which seems to quite a habit for him.

"That's fine."

Finally at ease, James nods once before trotting down the steps towards the front of the apartment building. Steve doesn't shut his door till the echoing sound of James leather boots against the metal stares fades, and he's sure that James is outside which signal boosts him to slam the door shut frantically and damn near sprint over to the balcony to secretly watch him look both ways before crossing the street and disappearing with a confident stride down the streets of Brooklyn. It's not till he sighs contently that he realizes just how pathetic that he'd exerted that much energy into seeing every bit of James he could before eight. It's even more pathetic considering his daughter got to witness the foolishness.

Steve causally brushes himself off and enters the living room space where Carter and Mischka have taken comfortability upon Steve's white leather, sectional, heated seat optional cushions (compliments of Stark) sofa. He's quickly reminded why in the fuck he'd just did all that daydreaming and staring when the six year old shifts around on the sofa to face him and observes him like she was the one supposed to be watching him instead of vice versa.

He waves.

She smirks.

"So, um," he begins, clapping his hands and then rubbing them together. "_Mischka_. Um," he tries but fails.

Her smirk doesn't deter.

Babysitting should be an easy task - sit the brat in front of the TV till he/she's respective owner comes to retrieve him/her, right? Well, this is _Steve Rogers_, and when Steve Rogers has a mission, he not only completes it but he gets it done right, and he's not too sure if James would highly appreciate it much if he just went off and did his own thing while his daughter's brain fries over some cartoon.

"So, you and your dad pretty close?" He asks, referring to their highly involved goodbyes a minute ago.

She nods and keeps her eyes trained on him, making him nervous to sit on his own sofa like if he even _dared_ to sit too close, she'd use a ballet move to fend him off. So he stays on one side while she occupies the other, Carter's head in her lap.

"What's that you guys were speaking? Sounded like Romanian or -"

"Russian," she tells him, eyes finally landing back on the television. "It's my first language. My mom was Russian."

_Right._ Steve remember James mentioning that.

"Hmph," he hums for lack of something better to respond with. Fuck, how do you talk go a six year old? She was mature as fuck and nothing if not intimidating as hell. "Cool."

The three of them sit through two more commercial breaks and no talking before Steve's stomach grumbles and he remember he'd been making a snack.

"Hey, you hungry?" He asks her.

She shrugs. "A little."

"Did you want a snack? I'm making fruit salad."

Her nod is enthusiastic this time, and she actually bounces off the sofa to follow Steve into the kitchen. This shocks Steve but he doesn't ruin it by commenting on it.

"My Uncle Clint is always trying to get Daddy to eat fruit," she says cheerfully and climbs gracefully onto the barstool. "But he likes to eat like a pig."

That's somehow makes Steve chuckle while he gets another small bowl out of the cabinet. "I'll keep that in mind next time he comes over," he says, chopping a pineapple slice into chunks. "What fruit do you want in your bowl?"

"Pineapple, apples, strawberries, grapes and kiwi, please," she tells him politely and he gets the ingredients from the bottom cubby in the stainless steel refrigerator.

"Anything else?" he asks, head in the refrigerator, searching for other things he could put on the fruit salad. "Whipped cream," he suggests when he sees he has a new can.

"Please and thank you," she replies.

He can't help but look over his shoulder and take in just how poised and mature she sounds, especially sitting there with her legs crossed and hands clasped together patiently over the island top.

"You have such good manners."

"I like to make a nice impression," she says, shrugging as though the compliment were expected.

"So, you're not like this usually?"

"I am with strangers."

The blade against the apple slices stops when she says that. He looks up from the knife and sighs. Steve didn't wanna be a stranger. He didn't wanna be strange to _any_ aspect of James' life if he had any intention of being in it. A romantic element of their relationship would most likely never blossom because James seemed straight as an arrow, - and Steve was too scared shit less to ever make a pass at him - but that shouldn't and wouldn't deter Steve from being the guy's friend. Friends watch their friend's kids every once and a while and made them fruit salads, right?

"Well, I don't wanna be a stranger," he retaliates sternly, dumping the contents of the cutting board one of the small bowls before him. "Let's get to know one another, yeah?"

Steve naively didn't consider himself a stranger; He'd had a conversation or two with Clint, Mischka waved to him and pet Carter whenever they were in passing, and plus, James trusted him. That's all Steve needed to feel right.

"Okay. Let's play the question game," she perks up and watches excitedly as Steve shakes the can and puts a generous amount of whipped cream on her fruit salad.

"The what?"

"You don't know the question game?"

Steve raises a confused eyebrow. "Clearly. Enlighten me," he says and shakes his head. "Tell me," he corrects himself, remembering he's talking to a six year old.

"Me and my babysitter -" she starts but Steve cuts her off.

"_My babysitter and I_. Not _me and my babysitter_," he corrects her, and he expects her to grimace for being corrected, but she just looks off at nothing to the side and nods as though she's saving the grammatical advice for later.

"My babysitter and I play this game sometimes," she explains, and her eyes goes exponentially wide at the bowl of fruit being presented to her. "I ask you a question and you answer. Then you ask me a question and I answer. Easy, right?"

Steve can't help but laugh a little. "That's hardly a game."

"So, you _don't_ wanna play?" She doesn't sound dejected or sad when she asks this but instead sounds bored just as her father had when they met a week ago. No doubting this little girl was James' all the way.

"No, I do," he sighs, amused at their similarities. "You go first."

She chews silently on a piece of strawberry with whipped cream that's already smearing across her cheeks. "Steve, how old are you?"

_Sensible first question_, he thinks. "I'm thirty-two. My turn: how old are you?"

"I'm six and a half."

He scoffs and puts a ripe strawberry in his mouth. "A half what?"

"It's _my_ turn," she responds sweetly. Steve nods in agreement and sits at a barstool across from her, bowl of fruit in hand.

"Go ahead," he says and makes a loose gesture with his hand that encourages her to continue.

"Um, ugh..."

They continue the "game" for several go-arounds, asking questions with ease and answering accordingly and appropriately. For a six year old, Mischka proves herself to be quite thorough in how she answers Steve's intruding questions like _"Do you remember your mom?" _or_ "How does your father know Clint?"_ to which she responds in explaining how she barely remembers Natasha and that Clint and James were childhood friends.

Steve nearly feels guiltily sneaky worming this information from Mischka. Should he really be asking her about her mom? What is James purposely didn't want Steve to know certain things at such an early stage of their friendship? Even still, Steve really can't stop himself from taking sweet advantage of gathering everything he wants to know about his new friend from his more than willing daughter.

The questions go on and on till another episode of the cartoon they had been watching comes on. They pause the questions to pay attention to the TV screen till a commercial comes on and Steve turns his head to look at Mischka.

She's already looking at him.

"Your turn," he prompts when she doesn't say anything, and she still doesn't after a minutes, he scrunches his eyebrows together then up in examination. She's staring really intensely as though she's hoping he'd maybe wither away if she's glares hard enough.

"What?!" He questions, growing frustrated at her silence.

Her mouth quirks about like she's nearly done wording out her sentence in her head.

"Hey, are you gay?" she finally asks after another beat of silence and Steve damn nears chokes on the saliva he's swallowing.

"Come again?" he tries, making for sure that he'd heard her question properly.

"Are you gay? As in _do_ _you like boys_?"

Clearly shocked that she'd meant her question in its very sense, Steve blinks once, twice, and a third time at the little girl. Before thinking of whether he should lie or not, he breaks their game's rule.

"How do you know what that means?"

"_Uh-uh_," she sing songs and waves her finger playfully. "You didn't answer the-"

"No, I'm being serious," he says sternly so she knows he's not paying any game and is genuinely interested in her answer and why the fuck she'd ask it.

"I know," she understands and nods her head. "Answer my question, though."

"Don't you think that's a _bit_ personal?"

"You don't get this game, _do you_?"

Steve bites his lip in frustration. He really can't say he's annoyed yet, because a) she's cute as all get out and b) James probably wouldn't appreciate him spazzing out on her for asking him such a personal yet simple question. Well, in all actuality, it didn't have to be so personal. Maybe Steve was over thinking it? What's the difference between asking if he's straight versus if he's gay? It's 2015 - being gay doesn't have to be unusual.

Steve sighs, and nods his head slightly, hoping that she doesn't react badly to the answer. A beaming and white smile spreads across her pale face. "Well, I like males, but I like females, too, understand? I like..._both_? Bisexual," Steve tries to explain in broken bits and gritted teeth. Her left eyebrow quirks upwards a few inches under her hairline in confusion.

"That's a thing? You can like both," she clarifies, nodding unsurely.

"Yeah," he says, trying to figure out why in the blue hell he was having this conversation right now. "Um, why'd you ask that?"

"Because I think my Daddy has a crush on you," she answers, making Steve's eyes widen, fingers clench to fists, throat tighten, and face redden. There was much doubt in the content of the conversation before hand during the question game but Steve was certain that this was borderline wrong to discuss. That, however, doesn't stop him from smiling as wide as the horizon.

"Why do you say that?"

"He talks about you a lot."

Steve pretends not to care and scoffs. "So?"

"_So_?" She repeats incredulously and rolls her eyes so hard that Steve's pretty sure they'll fall right out. "Even my Uncle Clint thinks so, and my Uncle Clint knows _everything_. My Daddy tells him _everything_."

Steve tries to weigh his options for a moment. He could just shrug this notion off and go back to the regular question game, or he could get his hopes really high - kinda like he is now - based on the vague and naive observations of a six year old. And because he's desperate, he goes with the latter option.

"Has he ever specifically said he has a crush on me?" he asks, ignoring how childish it sounded coming out of his mouth. Mischka just grins and shakes her head.

"No," she says. "But he asks about you a little. Like the other say, he played me one of the songs he's been working on and asks me if I think you'd like it."

"A song he's been working on," Steve repeats and doesn't attempt to hide his broad smile or the blush that accompanies. "So it _has_ been him playing music all week."

"Yeah," she confirms, nodding and looking to her lap when Carter places her head there to be pet. Mischka gives the dog what she wants and adds, "my Daddy's in a band with some of my other Uncles. They have a show next Friday. My Daddy wants to ask you to go, but he's too scared. Isn't that weird?"

"Yeah," Steve says absentmindedly, twirling his thumbs about. "Why is he scared?"

"Cus my Daddy likes boys, and he's scared you don't like boys." Her endearingly cute grin stays planted on her face like she believes that if it's cute enough, it'll magically make Steve like boys just as much as her Daddy does. No convincing is needed considering Steve _does_ like boys. Oh, he _loves_ boys, actually.

"I guess this means you're gonna go run and tell your Daddy that I like boys?"

To Steve's surprise, she shakes her head. "Not my business."

This little girl is unbelievable. "Then why'd you ask in the first place if you knew it's not your business?"

"I already told you!" She whines. Steve's questions clearly annoy her. "Because my Daddy has a crush on you."

He doesn't say much else after that. They watch the remainder of the show in silence with select grunts and laughter at certain parts, but for the most part, the talking has stopped.

Steve really wants nothing more than Mischka to casually tell James that _yes, he's into men_ the way he's unto women. There shouldn't have to be any confusion here; Steve likes James and if James supposedly like Steve, then why should there be all this pining and staring? Clearly, the two men don't recognize attraction when they see it, but if a six year old can, then they're being as dumb as they feel.

"You like my Daddy too, right?" Mischka suddenly asks, voice sounding worried and insecure. Steve wanted to reply with a smart ass answer, but in seeing how much she cares about the situation, the well being of James, and how it obviously terrifies her that Steve could say anything but yes to her question, he lightens up and gives her a hopeful smile.

"I do, actually," he answers. "A lot."

Her lips lift in a weak attempt at a smile. She's still unsure so Steve places a hand on her shoulder.

"Lighten up, kid," he says. "You aint got much to worry about. Your Daddy is fine, okay?"

"You promise?"

"I promise."

In the time before there's a knock on the apartment door, Steve prepares her another fruit salad with whipped cream and she eats it gratefully while he shows her some of his sketches that he'd been working on. She's impressed when he tells her that he gets to draw superheroes and fairy tales for a living, and for about a half hour or so, they draw and sketch on spare sheets of paper from Steve's desk. Mischka heavily ridicules Steve's drawing of a fairy princess when he colors in her dress pink because _"why do girls always have to wear pink? What if her favorite color is green?" _

They'd just come back from walking Carter when there's a knock on the door and Carter barks while she follows Mischka who literally sprints to open it.

"Daddy!" She shrieks and hugs him around his waist immediately. Steve does his best to bot look at James because all he can think about is what the little girl had told him. Not only is James in a band - which turns Steve on quite a bit - but _he's gay_ and has writes music in the hope of Steve's favoring. He talks about Steve; he asks about him. He _fucking cares._

"Hey, devil child," he greets her and puts his fingers through her waved hair a few times before settling with rubbing the back of her head. "Have fun? Were you nice for Steve?"

"She was an_ absolute angel_," Steve exaggerates with his hands, clapping them together and lisping like Daffy Duck. Mischka laughs as does James who looks about two minutes away from passing out and sleeping on Steve's wooden floor. Poor thing probably spent all the energy left in him to stride over to Steve's apartment to get his daughter and really, Steve just wants to swaddle him to his chest till he falls asleep peacefully without a care in the world.

"I take that as sarcasm," James guesses, digging his hands into his jean pockets and smirking widely despite the tired curve in his lips. His eyes are shadowed by deep and dark hollows under his grey eyes, but they still lively and active when they survey Steve when they laugh together.

"No," Steve insists, crossing his arms as he approaches the two of them from his guarded stance on the arm of his sofa. "She was a joy to be around." A gentle hand pets across Mischka's hair when he's close enough and gazes down at the little girl, feeling utterly secure that the secrets that they'd shared with one another today are going to stay secrets when she returns the same kind of smile.

"She better have been," James teases sternly and pinches her cheeks. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," she says and before Steve could even think to say goodbye, she takes him off guard and squeezes around his waist in her version of a hug. Steve looks to James for a moment then down to his occupied waist and his heart bursts into probably a million pieces when he observes just how chubby Mischka's cheeks are when they're squished against Steve's lower abdomen and how she's wrinkling the hem of his shirt with how hard she's squeezing him. He gives into the gesture by stroking her hair nonchalantly and grinning warmly.

"Bye, Steve! Thank you for watching me today," she coos and when she pulls away, she winks slyly - so slyly that it makes Steve's jaw drop - and disappears behinds James and down the hall to her own apartment. Steve's eyes meet James' and he expects him to just wave and go after Mischka, but he's actually leaning on his right shoulder in the door way, left arm hidden.

"Yeah, um," he stammers, nodding his head over his shoulder. "What she said - thanks again. I really needed you today, and you pulled through. Thanks, man."

"No problem. It was really no trouble. I'd be happy to do it again."

James continues to smile that exhausted smile and it doesn't falter a bit - not even when Steve feels himself blushing hot as hell and going downright droopy-eyed at this man's reverent gaze towards him. Feeling accomplished for pleasing James, he proudly lets himself give a half smile.

"Hey, so would she, by the looks of it." James jostles Steve's shoulder lightly. "Took her two weeks to warm up to the babysitter. How'd you get to the core of her stone cold heart?" he jokes, making Steve chuckle and shrug.

"Well, anyway, I've taken enough of your time, so I guess I'll be, ugh, on my merry way," James says, nods towards his apartment again, and bounces off the doorway to begin that suave backwards walk down the hall. "Thanks again, Steve. I owe you one," he says firmly, pointing at Steve.

_In that case, get your ass in my bed. _"I'll hold you to it, Barnes. Goodnight," he says and shuts his door halfway, only stopping to see James smile once more and safely get into his apartment.

Feeling less guilty than last time, Steve masturbates again to the thought of James. He climaxes within the first twenty something strokes of his achingly hard cock but his refractory period blesses him with getting hard again within five minutes.

"Fuck, baby," he groans softly under his breath, nearly every damn muscle in his body tightening when he feels the pre-come coat the palm side of his hand slickly as it glides easily along his thick cock. He feels dirty, but not necessarily guilty when his mouth pops open with a wet sound and his eyebrows knit together and curve upward while his eyes struggle to stay open to watch the hot come drip down James' expecting lips and into his mouth.

Afterwards, Steve takes a shower, and eats a hearty meal of steak, mashed potatoes, and a bread roll over a JFK documentary on _The History Channel. _He doesn't retire to sleep until maybe midnight, and he's barely asleep for about fifteen minutes before a knock echoes throughout the apartment and starles Steve awake. He doesn't even bother putting on a shirt to answer the door, cus _fuck it_; he's annoyed at whoever the fuck thought it'd be a good idea to knock on his door so damn loudly at this time of night.

He swings the door open forcefully, fully prepared to scream "_what the fuck!_" at who is on the other side but quickly bites his lip till he feels it'll bleed when he takes in a disheveled James who clearly has been tossing and turning judging by his hair sticking up in various directions and the red rings around his eyes.

"Goddamnit," he hears James mutter under his breath when his greyish blue eyes flicker from Steve's face to his fucking _ripped_ upper body. James bites his lips just as hard as Steve is when he commits the eight crevices and dents of Steve's abdominals that cascade towards the carved Adonis belt between narrow hips to memory. Steve would usually feel self conscious, but instead he gets even more turned on at how James' cheeks are reddening more than his at how goddamn cute and disoriented James looks before him.

"James," Steve grunts sleepily and wipes whatever gunk had built up around his eyes in the short time he was asleep. "Um, is Mischka okay? What's wrong-"

James cuts him off with the quickness by frantically flailing his arms about to probably distracts Steve from whatever the hell he was trying to say.

"In high school, my group of friends and I had this thing called the _'gay pass_,'" he says breathlessly, using air quotes around _'gay' _and_ 'pass.'_

"It was basically this thing where'd each of us - as straight as fucking Republicans - would have a pass to fuck one gay guy without being actually being homosexual. It was a dumb ass idea, I know, and in my one pass, I realized that hey, I might like dudes, y'know?" James chuckles lightly, and Steve really wants to be amused but is obviously more concerned as to why in the hell James was telling him this, and why it couldn't wait till morning.

James continues when he sees Steve isn't in a gaming mood. "So the rules were uplifted, you could say, for my sake, stating that we could not only fuck, but _date_ one gay guy without technically being gay."

"James," Steve begins, but there goes James' arm again, shutting Steve up.

"Look, I'm sorry for waking you if I did, okay? I just," he pauses and his fair flops around his face when he shakes his head in thought like the next words out his mouth might make or break their relationship.

"I, ugh, might have a bit of a crush on you, and it's been like this since Clint told me about you and I saw you walking your dog that one time and thought _wow, he's gorgeous_ and it only got worse when I officially met you a week ago and _goddamn, you have some pretty fucking eyes_ and um, ugh..."

Steve, too sleepy yet stunned to even digest this confession, doesn't expect James to flutter his eyes closed, make a disgruntled noise, and turn around to walk away. However, he's doesn't let the man get so far as two steps before he gets him by his wrists and pulls him forward. James is caught off guard by this, but responds accordingly by creeping his hands downward to intertwine their fingers, looking as wild and tired as he had when he picked up Mischka earlier. Both men are dumbfounded at the unexpected gesture but neither draw attention to it.

"Continue," Steve instructs him encouragingly. "What do you mean_ 'like this?'_ Tell me."

James sighs and squeezes Steve's hand as if to remind him that he's here on Earth, breathing - or at least trying his hardest to. Actually Steve's having some trouble of his own getting his lungs to work in tune with his nose.

"Like this meaning I really couldn't sleep without asking you to make me your gay pass. I know it sounds dumb as hell and really ignorant but... I, uh, please don't get offended but I really like you, Steve, and I'm scared to death that I'm overstepping all kind of boundaries by asking a straight guy on a date."

Okay, so Steve can't help but actually laugh at that. He knows it's not the most encouraging thing he could do to James in such a sensitive state, but he really couldn't contain himself because the thought of Steve being fully heterosexual actually makes him laugh.

"So, I'm guessing Mischka _didn't_ tell you?"

James glances off to the side and shrugs, confused at why he'd ever mention her of all people. "Tell me what?"

Steve covers his face with the hand not occupying James' and laughs to himself once more. "Ugh, she asks me this afternoon while she was over here if I was ugh, gay, and _ugh_ -"

"Oh, _jeez,_ I'm sorry, Steve. I'll have a talk with her about minding her own-"

"No, no," he assures him and rubs the underside of his thumb over James' long fingers. "No, I really didn't feel intruded but, ugh, she asks me if I was gay because she wanted to make sure you weren't wasting your time with having a crush on me," he says, not stopping the curve of his lips when they go upward.

James' horrified expression excels with every word Steve says despite the reassuring grin that Steve's trying to pass on.

"So, she basically already told you that I have a crush on you?"

"She said she _thinks_ you do," he corrects, hoping it makes a difference and James feels less embarrassed.

James' mysterious left hand brushes through his mess of hair, but it still has the glove over it. "Fucking great."

"It's not_ that_ big of a deal, really," Steve adds. "I guess I could see where you'd be a little panicked, but the feeling is mutual, James."

The other man inhales sharply and exhales lowly all the while maintaining sanity in holding Steve's strong hand. "What?" He finally says after a moment.

"I like you, too. I know we sound like third graders right now, but fuck it, man. I like you. Like I spent a good few weeks or so trying to work up the courage to say something to you when you guys first moved in," he admits embarrassingly and legitimately expects James to laugh at him but instead, the other man just leans forward and for a moment, it looks like he might kiss him and his heart rate spikes then declines when he just sways back in place on Steve's threshold.

"Well, well, well," James sing songs, that confident and sexy veneer lurking within that devilish smirk and those raised bushy eyebrows laying sensually over his hooded eyes. _"You like me. I like you_. What're we gonna do 'bout it?"

Steve licks along his bottom lip and makes it his business to fill the space between them until their joined hands are pressed ever so gently on their hips. He really wants to kiss him, and maybe James feels it too. The way Steve's googly eyes mesmerize him probably makes him want to bite Steve's pert lips; They're practically begging to be bitten.

"I guess I could start by, ugh-," he stammers and rubs the back of his neck nervously (and_ there it goes again_: James' quick switches in character. One minute he's a sex god and the next he's a virgin schoolboy) "-inviting you to my gig this Friday. I'm kinda in this band with some buddies of mine-"

Steve only catches the last few words of James invite when he remember that Mischka had mentioned something about this earlier. "Yes!"

James stutters over his words at Steve's eager outburst. "Huh?"

"I'd love to come watch your band," Steve tells him and feels himself blushing bright red. "Just tell me when and where."

James scoffs and glances to his sides again like whatever magic happening between them to can't be real and it's one big practical joke. "Um, it's at this ma and pop bar in Manhattan. It's kinda underground; some old, ugh, high school friends of mine own it."

It's a vague answer, but Steve keeps on smiling regardless. "I'm there."

James' pearly whites shine brighter than usual as he cheeses like a photographer's about to take a yearbook picture. "Our set starts at seven and should end at like eight-ish. And, um, if you're not _too_ busy afterwards, we could go on a, ugh, date. Like a _date date_. If that's o-okay with you."

Steve thinks his favorite character of James' is probably the shy one because it's really goddamn adorable to see him struggle over his words. "Sure."

His eyes brighten. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"O-okay," he stutters and neither of their fucking smiles fade. "Sounds good. Hey, um, if we're gonna be doing this whole dating thing, we should probably exchange numbers."

Up until this point, Steve had completely forgotten he didn't have James' cell number.

"Oh, right," he agrees and takes James' phone from him when he slips it out of his pajama pants pocket. He begins to type in his number, name, - he doesn't neglect to add some heart eyed emojis next to it - and takes a quick and halfhearted selfie to set as a contact photo. When he gives James back his iPhone, they finally drop hands when James puts his hand on his chest and guffaws.

"Nice touch with the emojis, Stevie," he teases and pushes his shoulder lightly.

_He hasn't been called that in eight years._

Steve's first instinct is fight a frown through a harsh memory but there's no nerd when James takes his hand again and brings himself forward.

"So, I'll call you tomorrow."

"Yes," Steve agrees. "Please do."

James squeezes his hand once before doing that walk backward and letting their hands fall at the last possible second before he's too far away to keep holding on. "Goodnight, Steve."

"G'night, James," he says, shutting his door of halfway like he did earlier and watches James wink at him this time before waving and nearly stumbling into his apartment. When he's safely inside his apartment, Steve closes his door and he has the urge to call Sam to stick it to him. With no help needed, Steve has his first date in eight years.

He wants to masturbate again, but for some reason, his body tells him to dance around his apartment and squeal like a teenage girl. He does that for a good half hour before passing out on his sofa with the TV on then waking up with Carter lapping his face with her tongue


	4. 4

Sam had to be blind to not see the chipper rhythm in Steve's step, the sparkle in his usually wearisome blue eyes, and the absolute beam of sunshine that's reflected in his wide, obnoxious, ear to ear smile as he sits across from him at their favorite diner. He's not oblivious to the subtle happy effort in his best friend's little actions like pouring salt on his fries or sipping some of his milkshake.

He just tells Steve about his week and recently joined VA members along with the girl he's been seeing for some weeks now - Maria - and he listens with more interest than weeks before as though hearing about Sam's day was the highlight of his. It's not until Sam hears Steve outright _humming_ at getting his third refill of a strawberry milkshake that he waves his hands about and shakes his head.

"Okay," Sam starts, grabbing Steve's attention effectively because the humming stops and Steve's eyes flicker up to meet Sam's. In the process of doing so, the lengthy and thick ridge of lashes surrounded the eyes bat and flutter like butterfly wings.

"What's up?" Steve asks innocently, and knowing him, he probably hadn't even noticed he'd been behaving so skittishly.

"You either got your dick sucked or trained Carter to stop peeing on the carpet. What the hell are you so happy about?" Sam outright demands and once he does, Steve pops a fry in his mouth and feigns further innocence.

"I have no clue what you mean," he hums, cheek muscles and bones practically burning with how hard he's smiling. Sam blinks in silence and scowls threateningly like he's saying _'Nice try, Rogers.'_

Obviously seeing he's not fooling Sam, Steve just groans dramatically like it's some big hassle to tell his best friend the secret as to why he hasn't been able to stop smiling or giggling or humming since Sunday. He was gonna tell Sam after he and James went on their date, but now's as good time as any.

"Well, it's leaning more towards that first one," Steve replies coyly, turning as pink as his milkshake. Sam's eyebrows quirk upward in more shock than anything so he shakes his head again and taps his ear playfully.

"One more time? _Steve Rogers got his dick sucked_?" He places an outstretched hand on his heart in mock astonishment when his eyes go wide and his mouth gapes open. Steve doesn't hide his smirk at his friend's teasing because he'd expected such a reaction.

"Well, if things go right, I'm hoping to," Steve adds on. Sam makes a satisfied noise and takes a bite of what's left of his burger.

"Do tell," he encourages with his mouth full. "What's she like?"

"Well, _he's_ kinda shy, according to his friend, but - " Steve starts, stops to look at Sam to see if he'd react at the pronoun he'd used, and continues when he sees Sam either hadn't noticed or didn't care. "He's tall, grayish eyes, kinda lanky but fit enough, I guess. He's actually got a cute, little cleft chin and ugh, Sam, _his freckles._ He's suave in his own way, like an everyday James Dean, I suppose."

Sam nods to show he's listening as he continues to chew his burger.

"He moved into the building, like, two weeks ago with his daughter," Steve elaborates. "She's like six, I guess, but he looks way too young to have a six year old daughter. Oh, and_ he's in a band_, too. I'm seeing them play in Manhattan on Friday, and then he's taking me out afterwards. See? _I'm dating_, Sam," he makes sure that the last part is punctuated so much to the point of prime emphasis that Sam feels silly for forcing Steve to date before he was truly ready.

"A _daughter_, huh? Playing the step daddy role now, Steve?"

He shrugs, not letting Sam's attempt at making fun bother him. Absolutely _nothing_ could get to him. "She's a good kid."

Sam nods again and sips the last drops of his milkshake, causing the straw to make an obnoxious sucking sound against the glass. He shakes the glass about to rattle whatever milkshake is left, yet finds none that's edible. "So, what's his name?"

"James."

Sam looks to Steve abruptly. "James?"

"Yup," Steve says, popping his 'p' unintentionally then eating a handful of fries. He notices Sam has gone serious and is looking off at the edge of their booth in deep thought. "What?"

"James just moved here, yeah?"

"Two weeks ago."

Sam serious expression fades then playfully transitions into a smile. It's almost unsettling till his signature hearty and booming laugh erupts throughout the diner that's thankfully busy enough that the laugh doesn't draw attention.

"What's so funny?"

"James Barnes?" Sam shoots the name out at Steve, momentarily stopping his fit of giggle to point at Steve and erupt in more laughter when Steve nods his head, baffled at how he knows his last name.

"_Sam_," Steve says warningly, and Sam only laughs harder at God knows what. It takes him halfway through Steve's fourth milkshake and an extra basket of fries for him to calm down. Convinced he'd made an ass of himself in front of the waitress, Sam composes himself and sighs, wiping tears from his eyes. Lord knows it wasn't _that _fucking_ funny._

"Steve-o! Your boyfriend, James, he joined VA about a week ago and wouldn't _stop_ going _on _and_ on_ about this 'Steve' person, and well, it's nice to put two and two together," he explains.

Steve's first instinct is to gulp out of fear, but then why should he? He's in Sam's company, and he's the least judgmental person a guy could know. Curiosity peaked for a number of reason, Steve occupies his mouth from saying the wrong thing by eating a few French fries he's certain are going to cause him to go an extra mile on his jog.

"James was at VA?" Steve starts with and Sam nods like the information should be obvious. "Why?"

"Same reason why any of us are there."

"He served?"

Sam eyes his friend worriedly. "Um, _yeah_. Three years in Iraq right out of high school. Poor bastard doomed himself. So young, too."

Steve is starting to find it a tad annoying that he keeps acquiring information about James from other people instead of the source. "Iraq," Steve repeats to himself, and makes a mental note to absorb as much as he can from their date on Friday. "So, um, what'd he say about me?"

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?"

"Sam, c'mon," Steve pleads, not above begging especially when it came to James.

"Sorry, bro. Can't break private VA session confidentiality," he smirks, clearly pleased with himself in knowing he makes Steve this antsy.

"Just one thing."

Sam just turns his head toward the jukebox in the far corner of the diner and flashes a bright and purposeless smile at Steve. "Got any change?"

Steve does give Sam some quarters simply to appease him after trying to negotiate some information about James doesn't work. They play a song or two and pay the bill before Sam gives Steve a ride back to the VA office to retrieve Peggy. He only gets the key in the ignition before Sam is yelling after him through his open car window.

"Marlon Brando!" he calls, and Steve turns his head slowly to express his confusion towards the sudden outburst.

"What?"

Sam sighs softly and wiggles his eyebrows. "James said you reminded him of a young Marlon Brando."

Steve doesn't understand the significance of that little tidbit of knowledge until after a moment then a pink undertone dusts across his face and neck. He rides home biting his lips to keep from exploding with sheer and utter excitement.

* * *

Truly out of his depth, Steve stares blankly at the racks of clothing before him.

Fashion wasn't his strong suit, and neither were dates for that matter, so all in all, Steve really had no clue what the hell he's doing. The last first date he'd been on was in college almost ten years ago, and if he'd remembered correctly, he'd had assistance in figuring out what to wear. His closet consisted of track pants, running shorts, a suit or two, maybe a button down, jeans, and if he looked hard enough he'd find khakis that fit him properly. None of that was gonna cut if for his first date with James, who decided to keep their activities after James' gig secret, so Steve had to dress for anything whether it'd be just dinner, a movie, or fuck, maybe James wanted to get Steve in bed just as badly as Steve did him.

Steve had a few pairs of jeans draped over his arm, but he had no intention of wearing any of them tonight if he wanted to impress James. _What does one wear to a first date?_

His temple began to hurt just trying to figure the mystery out, so the first thing he did was whip his phone out from his pocket and dials the only person who could help in this type of crisis. The line rings four times before a quirky and energetic voice pipes up on the other side.

"_S.H.I.E.L.D Graphic Designs &amp; Studios_, this is Darcy. How can I assist you today?"

Steve instinctively gets happier just from hearing her voice, and he doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's literally grinning at a rack of clothes in the middle of a Macy's department store.

"Darcy, Darcy, my dear sweet Darcy," he hums sweetly into the mouth of his phone, purposely making his voice sound sultry to mess with her. He figures it works when he notes the way her breath hitches for a moment and struggles to gain consistency before she can begin speaking again.

"Steve," she concludes and her eye roll can practically be heard over the cell phone. "To what do I owe this phone call? Finally quitting cus you never come into the office? Miss the sound of my voice?"

He glances around aimlessly at the clothes and presses the phone closer to his ear. "Actually, sweetheart, I need your help."

She's silent for a minute, and he guesses asking for this favor at such short notice would be an inconvenient considering he's called her from the work number. Darcy isn't usual known to do much work as primary receptionist at _S.H.I.E.L.D Graphic Designs &amp; Studios_ anyway, but because Steve is Steve, he feels rude anyway even when she asks him what he needs.

"Well, don't make fun, but I have a date tonight, and -"

"_Whoa_, wait a second," she interrupts abruptly, sounding more amused than ever. "_You_ have a _date_? Like a _date_? Like with a living breathing organism that's consensually going out with you - _on purpose_? Thought I'd see you actually coming into work before going out on a date."

Darcy's unbelieving tone is quickly confused for patronizing, making Steve suddenly regret calling her. If she's gonna make him feel this insecure, then what's the point? He'd anticipated this from Sam and maybe even Tony but not Darcy especially when he'd asked nicely for her not to make fun.

"Never mind-," he tries to say, but she quickly picks up on how mean she'd sounded and instantly apologizes.

"Damn, I'm sorry, Steve," she utters, uncharacteristically bashful, into the receiver. "Forget I said that. Start from the beginning. You have a date _and_ \- ?"

"I have a date tonight with this guy from my building and -"

"Is he hot?"

"_Very_. Anyway, um, I haven't really been on a date since dinosaurs roamed the planet, and I'm standing in this Macy's trying to figure out what to wear tonight."

"Where y'all going?"

"He hasn't told me," Steve answers solemnly. "But he's in this band, and I'm watching them perform at this bar -"

"So best case scenario is that he'll probably take you to dinner. That's simple enough. What's his favorite color?"

Steve scrambles his brain. "Ugh, I don't know."

"Okay then," she enunciates her annoyance at his lack of substance clearly and he hears yet another eye roll, making him repeat the action on his own end of the call. "I was going to say wear a crew neck tee that's his favorite color."

"I suppose he likes blue," he guesses off the top of his head, scratching it in great confusion at the selection of tee shirts, button downs, and what the difference between a cardigan and a sweater is.

Steve roams the store with the phone pressed snugly between his shoulder and ear, picking up various items of clothing that he'd described to Darcy who instructs him to model them in the dressing room. With several pairs of jeans and shirts in tow, a friendly employee opens a changing room for him and he puts Darcy on speaker while he tries on outfits. He sends a picture or two to her cell phone for observation and critiques that span from admiration for his anatomy to the distaste at his outfit selection. About half an hour in the dressing room passes by, and Darcy approves of a pair of black jeans, a white tee, and a navy blue leather jacket that would match accordingly to his only pair of black, leather, biker boots - Steve'd bought them on an impulse during an odd phases that Sam tried to talk him out of in the past - that Darcy practically guaranteed would fit the 'boyfriend of the rockstar' look that James should be impressed by. He grimaces at the idea of those boots but at this point, he'd do _anything _for James' undying attention and appreciation.

James texts Steve the address to the bar in Manhattan around four o'clock, and it shouldn't have made Steve nervous, but it did. It made the events of tonight seem more realistic and maybe even scary; _what if James' interest in him faded? What if Steve didn't like his music? God, why'd he agree to this? _He'd be right back to square one, right back to his routine and that bubble he'd grown so accustomed to. James really had no clue the impact he'd inflicted on Steve's life by just moving in down the hall. He'd be forever grateful for James for that reason mainly even if he didn't wanna admit it to himself that the bubble wasn't how he'd thought he'd wanted to live.

Blissfully unaware of how unprepared he _mentally_ is, Steve pays vigorous attention to his appearance and _physical_ aspects instead when he begins to get dressed at five o' clock. He'd spent an hour in the shower - his second one that day - scrubbing with body washes and soaps from _Bath &amp; Body Works_ then detoxing his skin with steam as suggested by Darcy.

Steve's clean shaven and dressed in the Darcy approved date outfit by five - thirty and the only thing stopping him from saving is figuring out which cologne he should wear between his favorite Calvin Klein one or the Ralph Lauren that Sam got him for his birthday last year.

He stands before an expecting Carter with each bottle in both hands. "You're female, right? CK or Ralph?" he asks her, wondering if most dog owners talk to their pets in the hopes of getting a definite answer.

She just sits there, wagging her tail, and staring up at her daddy with complete reverence in her brown eyes. Steve shakes both bottles, but gets no reaction from Carter, so he sprits the Calvin Klein cologne on the perfume spots on his body, - the pulse points on his wrists, his neck, and hair - and then accessorizes himself with a watch and a ring or two. Confident in how he looks, he sends a picture of the final product to Darcy who wholeheartedly approves and wishes him good luck.

There's a proud step in Steve's steps as he gaits with a hop down the stairs to outside to where the bike is parked. Before climbing on, he assures that he's got his wallet, apartment keys and phone. The ride to Manhattan is half an hour which makes Steve's about forty minutes early to the bar. The rustic and wholesome exterior of the 107th Bar &amp; Lounge didn't intimidate Steve so much as it made him even more anxious for reason he's not sure are justifiable.

_It's okay, Rogers, you're not gonna die. It's just a date. It's not war._

Well, Steve's seen war.

He's been right in the neck of it all.

He's seen people die and bleed and blow up right before his very eyes, and there's not a day that goes by that he doesn't reminisce and suffer nights where he didn't sleep because of the compromises and sacrifices he'd had to make as Captain.

However, the levels of stress and trauma he'd felt in the aftermath of Afghanistan don't even touch how freaked out he is right now as he white knuckles his motorcycle's handles and does breathing exercises to keep from riding off and going back home.

He wishes Sam or Darcy or fucking somebody were here to tell him it's okay and that dates aren't supposed to be stressful. He certainly didn't feel like this when he went out with Stark_ that one time..._

Steve feels what he believes is slight panic at having an asthma attack despite not having had one since childhood. It doesn't stop him from having a flashback that kick starts him to bringing Peggy back to life and zooming down the street to wherever. He's breathing heavier than he has in a long time, and _what the fuck was he thinking coming down here where he knows no one to watch this perfect stranger..._ Steve could just about die at how stupid he'd been to think that any good would come of this.

Mind racing like his motorcycle, he feels tears burning his eyes and his face fuming red with how much it hurts to force himself not cry. He makes an abandoned effort in parking the bike lazily on the nearest corner then leaps off of it in one slick movement and reaches for his phone. He dials, and Sam picks up on the second ring.

"So, lover man, how's the date-"

"Sam, I can't do this," he croaks desperately into the phone, gasping for air that seems to be going scarce in his vicinity.

Sam's tone goes right into VA counselor, super friend mode and immediately begins to calm his best friend down when he picks up on the distress in Steve's voice. "Okay, Steve, _wait a second_, okay? You're okay, alright? _Get a grip_. Tell me what happened."

When Steve opens his mouth to answer, nothing comes out because that's exactly what he has to say: nothing. _What happened? Nothing._ He'd made something from literally nothing.

Yet, he's _still_ having a panic attack.

"Steve, can you talk to me? Just tell me what happened, man. Did he do something to you?"

He sniffles. "_N-no._ I couldn't even get in the b-bar."

"Why?"

Steve scans his surroundings and make out nothing but a blur of bright lights and normal, oblivious people enjoying their Friday night in between the buildup of tears in his eyes. "I-I-I don't _fucking_ know." Steve knows he's truly struggling because he never cusses in regular conversation.

"What triggered you, Steve? Tell me. It's okay. What happened?" Sam repeats with hard determination in getting Steve leveled again.

The blond man sniffles and rubs the heel of his hand not occupied by the phone across his face. "Sam, I have no clue what to do."

"Breathe first."

"Okay," he agrees and does so in labored efforts. "Now what?"

"What triggered you?"

"I'm not sure. I just p-pulled up to the bar, and it got _hard to breathe_ and-"

His voice grows more and more withered with each word till the statement is aborted all together. Sam waits patiently on the other line till Steve gets a sturdy grip on what's happening. He inhales a few long, deep breaths and opens his mouth.

"Sam, I don't know what I'm doing. I just wanna go home and forget I even came down here and just tell James I got caught up. _I c-can't do this_. Oh, Jesus, Sam - what do I do?"

"Steve, in all the time I've known you, you've probably been the most stubborn and determined motherfucker I've ever met, and I don't think it's really possible for you to 'can't.' Now, you like this guy?"

"Y-yeah," he answers shakily. "I do."

"Yeah, _I know_ you do. And do you _really_ wanna give up on what could be a great time with this guy because you think you _can't_ do this?"

Steve sniffles and leans against his bike. "Sam," he tries to protest, but Sam isn't having it.

"Lemme speak as your best friend for a moment. You've faced _too many_ lonely nights, and _you love way too hard _to not let yourself take a chance with this guy, okay?"

Steve nods, getting his breathing back to normalcy each second that passes by. "Yes," he responds when he remembers he's on the phone.

"Look, Steve, I'm no love guru, but I am your friend, and I wanna see you happy, so if you're not gonna go on this date for yourself or James, go for _me_. If he turns out to be a terrible singer and makes you pay for your own dinner, then fuck it, okay? You're not entitled to see him afterwards, but tonight, Steve..." he trails off and Steve's sniffles have reduced to hiccups.

"Yeah?"

"Just go for me. Just one date. _Just tonight._ Go for me, and if you really feel this guy like you say you do, then go for yourself after tonight. You deserve to be happy, Steve."

"I_ am_ happy," he replies almost instantly and feels like a dick right afterwards. He doesn't mean to snap at Sam especially when he's just trying to help. "I am," he repeats gentler this time but with little to no conviction in what he's saying. "Why does everyone think I'm _not_ happy? _I'm fine._"

"Right, 'cus having a panic attack in the middle of Manhattan is _fine_."

Steve hates when Sam's right. "Sam, I really don't wanna blow this. What if I mess this up, and he ends up just like - "

He wants to get the words out, but they're far too painful. Steve wants to believe he is being overdramatic whenever he tries to mentions certain past relationships, but the literal aching in his throat tells him that it's not his fault, and that it's okay to still feel so hurt.

"A lot of shit has to go wrong before James ends up like the last one," Sam replies sadly, probably shaking his head that Steve would even compare the two. "Are you okay? Breathing?"

Still unsure, Steve nods anyway then respond, "Yes. I think I'm fine. Sam, thank you."

"No problem, man!" He sounds like his regular self again which puts Steve at further ease. He pulls the phone from his ear to check the time, and figures he has time to pick up some flowers for James.

"Alright, Sam, I'm gonna go now. But thanks again."

Sam is probably shrugging. "Man, get the hell off the phone, or you're gonna be late."

"Love you, too," he murmurs into the receiver and ends the call. He stands in his spot on the corner against Peggy for a few moments, practicing his breathing as well as how he'll greet James. Fifteen minutes pass by before he actually moves and make a head for the nearest flower shop that'll be open at this time.

* * *

Roses in shaky hands, Steve makes it back to bar just ten minutes before James' band is set to take the stage. The outside surely matches the inside, keeping in tune with the rural and farm look that Steve found homelike and kinda cute. Having never been here before, he surveys the place for a seat, but the place is packed with every seat in the house taken. He supposes it's his own fault for arriving later than he'd initially wanted to.

"Steve!" a familiar little girl's voice catches his attention over the loud and rowdy crowd that are all faced expectantly to the miniature stage at the far end of the bar. He barely has time to turn his head to look at her before Mischka's around his waist in a tight hug. He pats her head, confused as to why she's here for a moment before remembering it's the same reason why he's here. Clint had to be here; no one in their right mind would let a six year old in here by herself even if her dad is the opening act or not.

"I knew you'd come! I just knew it!"

"Sorry I'm a little late. I, ugh, ran into some trouble. Where's your Uncle Clint?"

Mischka has Steve's huge hand in hers and navigates them through the thick sea of patrons back to a corner in the bar where she slides into booth next to Clint. Relieved, Steve slides in too and Clint pats him on the shoulder in a subtle greetings.

"Hey, we were beginning to think you weren't gonna show up," he admits to Steve and smiles graciously at him. He sets the bouquet onto the table and just shrugs with a sideways grin.

"Uncle Clint, _you_ didn't think he was gonna show up. Not _me_. I knew you would," Mischka corrects him and doesn't even look up when Clint sheepishly shoots her a glare. That makes Steve chuckle a little, and the atmosphere is a complete one - eighty compared to how he'd predicted before. He keeps Sam's words in mind the entire time even when he orders himself a beer and speaks to Clint and Mischka before the lights in the house dim, and an applause erupts among the crowd. Steve joins in, wide eyes on the stage while Clint whistles and Mischka jumps on the booth seat in excitement.

Not before long, an African - American man takes the stage, adjusts the mic, and speaks of great volume and animation as he begins to talk to the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, one and all, I'd like you all to put your hands together for the 107th's unofficial house band, _The Howling Commandos_!"

The crowd erupts yet again in whistles and cheers. Steve glances around once more to assure that he's where he's supposed to be given he had no fucking clue that he'd be caught up in a sea of fans when James had invited him to come by. Surely, he'd downplayed their band's popularity because everyone - just about every single person in this place - was on their feet, cheering and showing their appreciation to The Howling Commandoes.

_Interesting name_, Steve thinks.

His heart skips multiple beats and threatens to combust out of chest when he spots James taking center stage at the mic in the skinniest and tightest black jeans he's probably ever seen, a torn up pair of original Converse sneakers, and to poor Steve's heart's dismay, he is shirtless but has on an acid wash jean jacket - with that damn glove on his left hand - and the dog tags that jingle around his neck descend distractingly between his exposed pectorals, defined abdominals, and hips. His hair is even down, which is a first time for Steve, and it's fucking sexy in a messy middle part, cascading in waves towards the ends of his chin and neck.

James is all smiles and friendly waves to his adoring audience as his band of four other men take their respective places at a drum set, a bass and electric guitar, and a keyboard.

"Just kill me," Steve mutters to himself and his pleads are muted out with the continuous cheering and applause. James gets his right hand around the mic stand and adjusts it for his height while he strums lightly on the acoustic guitar around his torso.

"My name is James and this is Dugan, Jacques, Jim, and Falsworth," he says into the microphone and introduces his members by pointing to each man at their instruments. "We go by the name The Howling Commandos, and trust me, we sound a lot better than our name does," he chuckles cutely making the audience laugh and Steve's cheeks hurt with how hard he's grinning. Rock star James is another to add to the list of characters he's noticed.

"Um, I, ugh, just moved back to Brooklyn, and I've been getting settled in so we've been gone for a few weeks. But we're back now and for good, and this first song is kind of a fan favorite at the 107th," he barely gets the end of the sentence out before the crowd begins to clap and cheer again. They're not as loud as before, but there's just as much life and eagerness. James is already turning red under the yellow spotlight when he strums his guitar in preparation and begins to speak into the microphone, his voice projecting beautifully over the speakers strategically placed on the ceiling and walls.

"I wrote this song for my little girl, Mischka, when she was just a baby," he says proudly and from Steve's peripherals, he catches Clint poking Mischka in her side and her grinning as wide as the state of Texas. A smile of his own stretches across his lips, and he's more than happy he let Sam encourage him to actually do this.

"Her mother and I were going through some tough times, so I guess this goes out to her as well. For those who know it, feel free to sing along. For anyone new tonight, this is called 'Home'," James announces and doesn't wait for the applause to die down before he begins to play soft notes on his guitar and the man behind the keyboard begins to press on the keys appropriate to match James' tempo. Steve really thought he was hearing angels when he heard the muffled product of James in his apartment, but nothing truly compares to the sweet serenity of hearing this man sing live.

_"I'm a phoenix in the water...__A fish that's learned to fly...__And you've always been a daughter...__But feathers are meant for the sky," _he croons soulfully, eyes shut and lips pressed to the microphone like he's telling it an intimate secret. Steve could say he's entranced by the sound of him; he doesn't miss how Mischka is fluently singing along as though she wrote the song herself.

_"And so I'm wishing, wishing further f__or the excitement to arrive...__It's just I'd rather be causing the chaos t__han laying at the sharp end of this knife..." _

Clint has joined in with singing lowly under his breath.

_"With every small disaster, __I'll let the waters still. __Take me away to some place real..." _

Other patrons join in by the chorus, but they're not loud enough to overpower James. The piano escalates as well as the soft pitter patter of the drums behind him.

_"'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone...__It's where you go when you're alone. __It's where you go to rest your bones. __It's not just where you lay your head...__It's not just where you make your bed... __As long as we're together, does it matter where we go? __Home... home... home ...home."_

By this point, Steve is nodding his head to the melody, and the best way to describe the tune is along the lines of country composed with pop influences. It's very soft, almost like a lullaby but still upbeat enough to keep Steve intrigued. James looks at peace as he plays each note with as much soul and rhythm he has within him, and it's so raw and gracious that it's like he's baring his soul to not just everyone in the bar but Steve specifically even though the song isn't for him. There had to be a reason he's invited Steve to see this - to show off that sensual side of him all the while truly expose himself with his true talents. Steve feels special in every way like the song was dedicated to him and not his daughter who was bursting out the lyrics in their fullest emotion.

_"So when I'm ready to be bolder, a__nd my cuts have healed with time...__Comfort will rest on my shoulder and __I'll bury my future behind..." _

James hits a particularly high notes with no struggle and his face scrunches when he does so. Steve's heart yearns for him and hopes he'll do it again. In between delicate sips of his beer, he notices that James isn't the only one singing. A good half of the bar has joined in just enough to make James' and his bandmates' faces glow with gratitude.

_"I'll always keep you with me...__You'll be always on my mind...__But there's a shining in the shadows. I'll __never know unless I try..." _

The drums and the bass guitar join in on the keyboard and James' acoustic. The collective harmony upon the bar singing in unison makes Steve's bones rattles and goosebumps form along his arms. There's another chorus arising, and the full magnitude of the song weighs heavily on Steve and his surroundings when James swings his guitar behind him to grip the mic in its stand in both hands to put every ounce of his talents into singing the final and most enthusiastic chorus. Steve taps against the table, and is highly jealous he doesn't know the lyrics well enough to join in with James, his band mates, Mischka, Clint, and everyone else.

_'__"'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone...__It's where you go when you're alone. __It's where you go to rest your bones. __It's not just where you lay your head...__It's not just where you make your bed... __As long as we're together, does it matter where we go? __Home... home... home ...home.__" _

The last note dies out with the rattle of the cymbal drums mashing with the crowd practically crying for The Howling Commandos. Mischka is jumping up and down on the booth, basically in tears at how beautiful the dedication was. Clint is clapping, more than proud of his friend. Steve puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly.

"Um, thank you," he mutters then bows forward. "Been awhile since we've done that one."

The remainder of their set isn't as wild as their first song, but it's still involved and catches Steve attention. He's impressed by the depth and levels of James voice and guitar playing between fast songs and slow ballads. He's more than appreciative at how lithe and skilled James is when he does a dance or two around the stage. His rhythm is flawless and never misses a beat.

The Howling Commandos are seven songs into their set when Mischka yawns and places her head on Steve's huge shoulders. Steve figures she would've done that action to Clint if he hadn't gone to the bar to get himself another drink.

"Isn't my Daddy good?"

"Yeah, he is," Steve agrees, finally tearing his eyes from the stage for the first time since he'd sat down to look at the sleepy child. Her hair is back up in its usual bun tonight with a red bow decorating it. "That was a nice song he wrote for you, huh?"

"It's my favorite," she tells him with a voice that's groggy and sluggish. Her hands wrap around his bicep and after a few moments, her head dips and drops then jerks up in alarm.

"I'm _awake_," she tries to convince herself more than Steve. "I'm _up_. Is Daddy still on stage?"

"Yeah. Mischka, you need to go to sleep?"

"No! It's a Friday, and I'm a big girl. Big girls don't sleep on Fridays."

_Well, he can't argue with that logic._

He lets the little girl doze off and on on his arm for a good ten minutes before Clint returns with a half drunken gin and tonic and a doting expression at the girls failing attempts to stay awake in time for the band to finish their set. The Howling Commandos do finish at about eight o' clock as James had said, leaving the crowd with another fan favorite and gracious thank you's and goodbyes for the crowd for listening and attending the show. Steve has no clue how to be when James reappears from off stage in a black sweater replacing his jean jacket and lack of shirt. The glove is still on, but his hair is back in its bun. (Steve's beginning to believe it's a father-daughter thing.)

"Aw, my little Tazmanian Devil," he playfully coos at the sight of Mischka, and adds, "You couldn't stay awake, huh, baby?"

She makes a weak sound and snuggles her face into the crook of his neck when she wraps her arms around him in a mix of a hug and a request to be picked up. He holds her close to his body when he heaves back to his feet and rubs comforting circles onto the small of her back.

"Hey, nice job, asshole," Clint congratulates him and gives him a sideways hug. "You really brought the house down, kid. You succeeded in impressing Steve, so you must feel pretty good, eh?"

It's obvious James was avoiding interacting with Steve until he was ready, but since Clint's mentioned him, Steve has no other options than to acknowledge James. He can't differentiate James' red cheeks from embarrassment or the rush of just getting off stage on an adrenaline high. He figures he'd be pretty flustered too if he'd just did a performance like _that_ in front of someone he had a crush on.

"Did you_ really_ like it?" James wonders of him, half teasing and half serious. He's smirking, but his eyes are wide with fear of harsh criticism. Before Steve can reply, Mischka interrupts.

"He liked it, Daddy," she answers for him between tiny yawns. "He liked the songs, and he likes you."

James looks to Steve. "Yeah?"

"She basically hit the nail on the head."

There's silence between the four of them that surely James and Steve don't care to fill in since they're slowly slipping into that staring trance they feel so prone to do again. Before they're in too deep to realize they were staring hopelessly at each other like idiots, Clint pipes in and disrupts the moment with a clap of his hands.

"So, Buck, I'll take the kid home, huh? You and Rogers go enjoy yourselves."

Lost in the gray of James' eyes, Steve doesn't even flinch at the obscure name that Clint had just called him. James nods and shakes his daughter a bit in his arms.

"Baby, you're gonna go with Uncle Clint, okay?"

"You're not coming home with me?" She asks hopelessly, not opening her eyes. Her tiny voice sounds so helpless, and Steve almost wants to cancel just so she'll be satisfied in spending the rest of her evening with James.

"I'm going out with Steve. Remember?"

"Okay," the tiny girl yawns again and kisses wetly on James' neck. "Have fun with Steve, Daddy."

James kisses her cheek back and utters that Russian farewell into her ear before petting her head and passing her off into Clint's arms. "Bye, Stevie," she says and waves sleepily to them both. Clint doesn't even turn around to face them when he yells out,_ "Have fun! Use protection!"_

James doesn't even roll his eyes or look back at his friend as he exits the bar with the bell above the door jingling at his departure.

"You wanna drink before we leave?" James asks, thumb pointing towards the busy bar. Steve shakes his head and digs his hands deep into his jacket pockets when James turns from him to head to the bar.

_This_ is what the whole evening has led up to. _This_ is why Steve had a panic attack earlier. He repeats Sam's words in his head like a mantra as his eyes frantically go from the roses he'd gotten and James waiting for the bartender to retrieve his drink.

_Just breathe, Rogers. You're okay. Do it for James. Do it for Sam. Do it for yourself..._

Steve has his back to James now, gripping the roses stiffly in his hands like they're the sanity he needs to get through this date.

It's not that he _doesn't_ _want_ to be here; it's just he doesn't know_ how_ to be. He wants to be perfect for James the same way James is perfect for him. Although he's sure he won't lapse into another panic attack, Steve is still nervous and would do anything to just go home. However, he's not one to disappoint, and he won't let James nor Sam down. It would be so _un-golden_ and _un-Captain __America_ of him. Plus, it wouldn't be fair to James who put on a hell of a show.

"Hey, I got you a-"

"These are for you!" Steve blurts out, twirling on his heels with the roses in hand. James is obviously caught off guard, but the startled deer in the headlights look fades quickly at the sight of the flowers in Steve's hands.

"Beer," he finishes his initial statement then sets the two bottles of beer on the table behind Steve to takes the roses from him. He digs his nose into the bouquet and takes a big whiff. "Thanks, Steve. S'been a while since someone gave me flowers on a first date."

"Well, I'm a gentlemen like that," Steve declares and fills in the space between them just enough so that people know they're together but not enough to invade his personal space. "And plus, you did a really good job up there."

"Try'na butter me up, huh? Get in my pants?" _Cocky and sexy James mode on._

"Oh, I couldn't get in _these_ pants if I _tried_," Steve slurs sensually, sits upon the edge of table behind him then hooks his index finger through a belt loop of the other man's black jeans to pull James just a tad closer so that their thighs are touching and he can inhale the light alcohol on James' breath. The other man's body shuffles without protest into Steve's touch.

"They're way _too_ tight," he finishes, shaking his head and shrugging matter of factly like he didn't just drop the smoothest innuendo of his life. If 5'4 and sickly Steve Rogers could see what he'd be today, he wouldn't believe it. James is just as shocked too, judging by the way his lips are parted in a slit like he meant to retaliate, but lost his words at how fucking flirtatious Steve is. His face is red and his pupils are spaced out to their max, leaving little to no grey in his irises left.

The edge of his pink and pouted lips curves into a smirk. "Play your cards right, doll, and that shouldn't be a problem."

The way James is looking at him with his lips between his teeth in mock innocence isn't fair in the slightest. If he didn't have manners, Steve would probably just get down on his knees right now to suck him off in front of everyone in this bar instead of doing the gentlemanly thing by taking James to the bathroom and _asking_ so nicely if he's allowed to suck his cock until he cries out Steve's name with those long, guitar playing fingers tangled in his short, blond hair.

"Have a seat," James instructs invitingly and gestures to the table Steve had been sitting at. He does as he's told and sits across from James who is already sipping his beer.

"But all dirty talk aside, you did a great job. I'm impressed."

James tries to hide his face in his hands. "Kinda let myself go a bit up there. I usually don't get _that_ wild."

"I liked it," Steve says honestly. "You should be proud. Didn't know I'd be dating such a rock star."

"That doesn't scare you? You ready to receive death threats and harsh messages from my ever so loving fans?" James sarcastically questions, and waves his hands about to the rest of the bar.

"I'll be fine," he says then takes a swig of his beer. "I'll endure a hundred death threats if it means I could be with you."

"Ugh, Rogers, you're just as cheesy as I thought," he groans but with a huge smirk.

"You like it, though," Steve states this as a statement versus a question to be answered or defied, but James nods approvingly anyway.

"I can't lie and say I don't. S'nice to be hallmarked for once," he concurs, pointing to the roses. "Now I gotta figure out how to top it."

_Top me instead._ "They're just roses, James."

"Yeah, but it means a lot. It's almost symbolic."

"That I'm a nice guy?"

James twitches his lip and shakes his head as he stares at the flowers like they've cured cancer. "Bit more than that. You're beyond nice, Rogers. _Trust me_."

Pangs of guilt metaphorically stab at Steve. To think he was gonna skip out on seeing James this grateful - and for such a gesture as simple as flowers on a first date - to instead be panicking in his apartment over nothing overwhelms him. That would've been the biggest mistake of his life.

_Sam is always right,_ Steve thinks.

"So, what do you have planned for us tonight, my little rock star?"

James beams at the nickname. "Well, there's this Italian place some few blocks around here. It's my favorite. And maybe, if the golden boy don't have such a strict curfew, we could see a movie."

"Sounds like a plan, but I gotta be home by ten- thirty or my parents'll kill me," he deadpans and for a split second, James takes him seriously then begins to laugh aloud.

"Let's get outta here, man," he struggles between belts of laughter as he and Steve slide out of the booth and head to the door. James waves at some people behind him before crossing the threshold onto the street and shivering delightfully at a warm gush of wind.

The two make small talk on the walk over to the restaurant, and in between focusing on listening to James and walking without tripping, he fights the urge to hold his hand. He would, but he's on James' left and maybe it wouldn't be safe to do so this early in their relationship. There must be an insecurity about his left hand, and that's why he wears a glove all the time. Maybe it's some indie fashion trend? Steve didn't wanna make him or the situation uncomfortable by overstepping those first date boundaries.

_Natalia's_ is the name of the Italian place, and it's traditional in design with Italian flags, mob movie posters, and blown up pictures of spaghetti decorating the deep red walls. It reminds Steve of the diner he and Sam love in Brooklyn given that both places are small, yet bustling with business, and from the looks of it, it's date night in Manhattan when Steve counts out several couples sharing pizzas within their first thirty seconds there. The friendly hostess guides James and Steve to a two seater table right beside a huge display window, giving them the perfect view to people watch.

James doesn't even look at his menu but instead runs a finger over the stem of his roses.

"You know what you're getting already?" Steve asks.

He nods, cocks his head and puts his chin in his right hand as he bats eyelashes at Steve. "I told you this is my favorite spot. Natasha and I came here on our first date, so I've always had this notion that the place has a bit of luck when it comes to romance. That's the main reason why I brought you here."

Flattered to the point of going speechless, Steve just gulps. He wants to kiss him.

A mischievous smile and crinkled laughter lines around his eyes eyes break over his features. "See? I can be as cheesy as you."

Steve refuses to feel stupefied at how smooth James is. He hides his sheepishness with a confident smirk and an exaggerated roll of his baby blue eyes. "You still like it."

"Alright, you know I do, Rogers. Just figure out what you want."

After surveying the menu multiple times with deep consideration for his diet and pestering James to the brink of hell with questions about this and that, Steve eventually ends up getting the same thing as James: a classic bowl of spaghetti and meatballs. A waitress takes both their menus away and brings them each their drinks then leaves them to be.

"Answer me this," Steve says, "How'd you get into music?"

"My mother forced my sister and I to take up an instrument in elementary school. She had this hope of one of us being child prodigies or whatever, but that didn't work out 'cus Becca, my sister, was terrible at the trumpet and I fucking hated the saxophone," he chuckles at a memory and his eyes drift to the edge of their table as he continues. "I didn't begin guitar till middle school, and I didn't realize I could sing till high school. I met my band mates back in this extracurricular world music class my mom signed me up for, and we were your generic garage band till we were asked to perform at our senior prom."

"What kinda name is The Howling Commandos?" Steve has to fight a laugh but then decides not to when James laughs along with him.

"You sound like my mom," he says, grinning from ear to ear. "Uh, we were trouble makers in high school mainly 'cus we were always the loudest ones in study hall. We were originally The Howler Monkeys, but Commando sounded cooler."

Steve thinks back on what Sam told him about his time in Iraq, and he has a troubling time picturing James as a commando. James shows no signs of ever being in a war like PTSD, but then again Steve can't judge or assume. No one would ever peg Steve as the type to have a panic attack over a first date, but shit happens.

James goes into further depth about his band and their first gigs, and as he gets deeper and deeper into the conversation, the passion and love for his hobby is clear and practically gleaming in his eyes. Steve thinks that James could go on for hours if their food hadn't been brought to the table, distracting him. Even between bites of his spaghetti, James resumes their discussion in great detail and heartfelt spirits. Steve was the last person to discuss music with - given that he listens to the same handful of forties, fifties, and sixties artists on a Vinyl record player - but he doesn't have it in him to express his ignorance on the subject when James looks and sounds as adorable as he does. The closest thing that Steve has to a passion as intense as the one James has for his music is probably sketching. He doesn't take it as seriously as he used to, but he still does it to keep him on Earth and keep him distracted.

"Ok, excuse me," he abruptly says, mid sentence. "I've been going on and on about me. What about you, Steve? Tell me something about you. Whaddyou like?"

_I like listening to you. _"Well, you know I draw."

"Yeah, Mischka told me. How's that workin' out?" James slurps up a noodle then wipes his mouth with a napkin.

"It pays bills," Steve replies boredly, trying to desperately downplay his excessive want to tell James how much he enjoys drawing through his issues. The other man doesn't seem convinced at Steve's rogue, but he shrugs anyway and eats a mouthful of garlic bread.

"The kid was telling me how good you are. You gotta draw me something one day," he utters after he chews and swallows. "What's your strongest piece?"

"Don't really have one, I guess. I mean the one's I've done for the comic book are pretty good." James had been impressed at Steve's occupation when they'd loosely discussed it on their "date" in Steve's apartment.

"You can draw me."

Steve almost take him seriously till he sees that there's no trace of a teasing smile or smirk on James' face. "_You_?"

"I did modeling like once for a check or two back in the day. I'm an excellent muse."

There's really no denying the fact that Steve had wanted to put James down on paper from the moment he'd taken in his features. He's aesthetically pleasing, meant to be immortalized in Steve's sketchbook as his own personal symbol of kind yet troubled beauty. A camera can capture the surface of James' anatomical perfection, but the emotion and raw talent that goes into a drawing would be locked away forever in the eyes and heart of the artist. Steve didn't know James that well, but he knew he had a story behind those translucent eyes that he wanted to get down on paper even if it's in the form of loose, connected lines and shading.

"I could draw you like one of my French girls," Steve giggles to lighten his own mood because he felt heavy just thinking about how intimate and sexual a drawing session with James could get.

"You drew in France?" James asks nonchalantly as he swirls spaghetti onto his fork, and Steve think he's kidding for a moment until the brunet glances up at Steve awaiting an answer.

"Um,_ no_?"

"Then what do you mean drawing me like one of your French girls?"

Steve squints at him. "Did you _not_ get it?"

"Get _what_?" James plops his fork in his mouth.

"_Draw me like one of your French girls_," Steve quotes in a dainty female impression of Kate Winslet, but James just chews. "_Titanic_?"

He swallows and hunches his shoulders. "Never seen it."

The fork in Steve's hand clinks against his plate in a hurry when he drops it. "You have never seen _Titanic_?!"

"Nope," he answers calmly like this is the most rational thing ever. It almost makes Steve crazy that James is a grown ass man, and of the twenty seven years he's been on this planet, he hasn't taken three hours out of his day to watch one of the greatest movies ever made for not just his own entertainment but for social reasons like understanding the reference Steve just made.

"Okay, before this relationship can go_ any_ further, we need to watch_ Titanic_. I'm sorry, James, it must be done. There's no way you _never_ seen _Titanic_. Literally everyone has seen _Titanic_."

James seems like he's only half listening to whatever Steve's saying. That cocky, Cheshire Cat grin appears sneakily across his face, and really no good can come of that.

"Sounds like another date. You know what movie I have seen though?"

"What?"

A long piece of pasta hangs from James' puckered lips. "_Lady and the Tramp_."

There's a skip in the pattern of Steve's heart. His whole body goes hot and flushed when James presents the unoccupied end of the noodle to Steve. He deliberates the pros and cons of not taking it, but truly only gives a shit about not passing up a clear invitation to kiss James.

Playfully getting the offered end of the pasta in his hands, he places it in his mouth, and James is the first to start chewing towards Steve's mouth. He can't deny they either look gross or cute, but he can't seem to care either way.

With a good grip on the table, he scoots himself forward to lessen the struggle of reaching James' mouth. It's when James' breath invades his space and sees that the other man's eyes are closed that he realizes James wasn't kidding. He's been wanting to kiss to Steve just as badly as Steve wanted to kiss him. That causes the stomach to flop, his heart to drop, and his chest to heave rapidly. Each second that passes by that their lips slide closer to the others against the noodle is like the calm before the storm or a spark edging slowly down the rope attached to a stick of dynamite.

Steve doesn't expect for his breath to hitch so much when James' soft lips _finally_ meet then press against his with gentle intentions. Both men swallow what's left of the noodle, but they keep their lips shut over the others. Seconds later, James' hand lays needy against Steve's cheek, pulling him forward in the kiss so their lips part and sit comfortably intertwined in one another.

He can't describe the surge of electricity that passes like a current through James lips to his, down his chest and straight to his heart that's beating as fast as a racehorse's. It feels right being like this, so he takes initiative and moves his head sideways to meander his tongue to massage into James' mouth. He tastes the beer, the spaghetti and yet another electric shock when James allows him to have his way. Their noses bump multiple times when Steve switches his head about and it makes for grins to form into the kiss. The noses collide often enough for James to break the kiss with laughter and give Steve one last peck before easing back into his seat. His right hand puts a stray hair behind his ear, and play it cool he might, but he's blushing from his forehead to his neck.

"I usually don't kiss on the first date," he manages to get out while Steve catches his breath. Once he's got it, he speaks.

"You won't have to anymore."

"And what's_ that_ mean?" he purrs suggestively.

"I'm kinda hoping you won't have to put up with any more first dates after me."

"I guess this means you must be serious about me," James murmurs frivolously. "How cute."

He doesn't miss the man's condescending undertone, but he smiles sweetly anyway. "You haven't seen cute, pal."

James and Steve finish their meal, and they probably would've made the movie on time if they hadn't spent an unnecessary fifteen minutes at the restaurant arguing who would pay the bill. James had insisted he do so because _I asked you out, Steve,_ and since Steve's mama raised him right, he counteracted with a frustrated claim that _rock stars don't pay for their own stuff. _James eventually won Steve over and paid for both of their meals. The hurried walk over to the movie theater in the next block over was filled with uncalled for giggles, and to great surprise, James' right hand went for Steve's left, finally easing that tension that Steve had felt earlier. James holds his roses in his left hand.

They decide on a critically acclaimed action flick and had every intention of watching it until hormones happen to get the better of them, and James is halfway in Steve's lap, placing heavy and breathy licks and kisses along his neck, jawline and lips.

The brunet gets him so flustered, hot, and bothered that he has to remove his jacket to relieve himself which greatly prompts James to extend his kisses along Steve's arms and back up his face. Feeling much like a teenager, Steve takes advantage of scenes in the movie that makes the theater pitch dark to return James' advances and explosions and loud gunshots to moan when James bites him especially hard on the neck. He jumps right out of his skin but fails to controls his heart rate and the beads of sweat gathering among his forehead when James slyly snakes his hand towards the zipper of Steve's jeans that's tented with the most defiant hard on he's ever had. His cock wanted to be freed almost too much to the point that he was chafing against his boxer briefs, and as badly as he and his body wanted whatever James was going to give him, he grabs James' wrists to stop him.

"Uh-uh, baby," he moans, lips against James' temple. "Watch the movie."

James' movements are languid and calculated when he edges slowly back into his own seat, right hand wrapped in a death grip around his bicep like if he'd eased his grip for a second then Steve would reject him further by leaving the theater. He _dies_ inside when James fucking whimpers and bats those lashes so fast he might fly away.

"Steve," he whines like a child, not making this erection any fucking easier to Steve to deal with. In flashes from the explosions from the movie, James's looks younger than usual especially when he mutters out a broken, "_Please_."

He wants this so _badly_...This attention and adoration from James...he, more than anything, wants James in the very worst way and feels pure and yet so dirty when James stares at him like _this_. He's just so vulnerable and _Jesus Christ, __not here... _He wants this so much. But not this way; _not like this._ He wanted a _boyfriend._ He wanted _James as a boyfriend_, not a booty call. This would be acceptable if he were James' boyfriend.

So, he resists.

"_No_," he bites out sternly, claiming himself as the controller of this situation, despite the need to just give in. James blinks blankly at him, his bottom lips quivers like he might break down, and Steve is a second away from ditching the authoritative role and just giving him what he wants whatever that may be. He holds his ground and blatantly ignores how James' stubble along Steve's neck completely ignites him from. There's been so much fucking physical contact over the course of two or so hours that Steve hadn't prepared for; he's ready, willing, and able to make those fantasies of him and James come true right here in this movie theater, but he has self control and respect for James.

"_Yes, sir_," he mutters, purely out of frustration merely to please Steve. He places his head upon Steve's bicep just as Mischka had earlier, and does as Steve had told him. He doesn't know where that protective nerve in him surfaces from that allows him to prod James' hair with his nose then kisses his crown.

"Good boy," Steve utters back.

They get through the rest of the movie with minimal interruptions. Sure, James tries to coax Steve into another kiss, but Steve ignores him, pets his head and kisses his temple chastley. The movie is over by midnight, and James looks a tired mess with his hair ruffled out of its bun when they exit the theater into the night life of Manhattan. He's swinging the bouquet childishly in his left hand while his right squeezes around Steve's arm. He hasn't moved his head from Steve's bulging shoulder muscles, and doesn't intend to anytime soon as they stroll to Peggy like they'd just fucked each other's brains out and they're far too tired to make an effort to even walk at an even pace.

One of James' bandmates had given him a ride to the bar, so he holds on tight to Steve as they ride on his motorcycle through the city and all the way back to their apartment building. It's an invigorating rush to have the wind whip out his bun and tickle his scalp each passing second he's clutched to Steve for the half an hour ride back to Brooklyn. He doesn't wanna let go of Steve for anything - only to walk lazily up the stairs to their floor, flowers in hand, dumb grin plastered on his face and Steve's.

"So," Steve mumbles as he leans against his apartment door, index looping through James' jeans again. "Tonight was fun, eh?"

"I'd like to do it again tomorrow if you, can, um, forgive me for my, er, _behavior_ in the movie theater," James apologizes self consciously with his hands scratching along his neck and eyes wandering to the floor. "I'm not usually like _that_. I don't want you thinking that I'm some sort of easy lay ' cus I'm not, and I know that might be hard to believe -"

It's not that James' rambling annoy Steve - he just feels like kissing him again, so he does, and James shuts right up.

Their lips play and lap about in a frenzy, heat arising quickly in both their chests when moans, heavy breaths, and that electric current emits between them. The desperation for intimacy is enough to make James push forcefully against Steve and thump them both on his apartment door. The echo of the action in the hallway isn't enough to stop them from fiercely ravishing each other's lips. James bites his plump bottom lip, and Steve drags it from him to peck feather light upon James' chin.

"You really underestimate how much I like you," Steve reassures him gingerly and uses both hands to keep James' head in place when he kisses him deeply.

"So, you'd wanna do something tomorrow? Even after I acted like a complete jackass?"

"Yeah, but you're _my_ jackass," the blond teases and places sensitive kisses among his face. "I _would_ like to do something, though. What'd you have in mind?"

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe we can get some dinner again and watch Titanic?"

"If that's what you wanna do," Steve agrees and keeps his hands to James' face. "Yeah?"

The short series of nods of James's head express his true eagerness. "Yes, please."

"Call me tomorrow." He kisses his stubble, and takes out his apartment keys. "Goodnight."

"G'night, _Stevie_," he purrs and takes a single stem out of the bouquet to give to Steve. "Thanks for such a nice night."

The apartment door clicks open when Steve pushes on it. He already hears Carter's tags - he must've woken her. "I'll see you."

"Bye," he barely breathes when he places a last kiss against the corner of Steve's mouth. Instead of doing what he usually does, James actually turns his back and walks normally to his own apartment and gives a timid wave and smile before opening his door and stepping inside. Steve follows his lead into his own apartment, places his single rose in a vase of water, and strips naked for bed.

Sam'll have to wait to hear about tonight till the morning, so for now, Carter's all ears.


	5. 5

Saturday morning deliberately takes its sweet time getting to where it needs to be. Despite him being just down the hall, Steve began to miss James the second he got comfortable in his bed next to Carter. He informs the canine in on what was probably the best date of his life, and she listens, he supposes. He goes on and on about how cheeky and irritatingly desirable James is along with being sensitive and shy when he allows himself to be.

Carter gets the censored version of their date while Sam gets a taste of his own medicine when Steve fills him in on everything from James' performance to dinner to the rated R activities in which they partook while at the movie theater. He expects Sam to be disgusted - he usually wouldn't go into depth about his sexual endeavors when they involve men for whoever's sake - but Sam is actually _impressed_ that he managed to have James _begging_ on the first date, claiming _It's that Captain America charm, man. _

Sam offers to buy Steve a drink after they finish lunch at their usual diner, but Steve declines to get his much needed head start on the plans he has for James and himself tonight.

* * *

Steve moved out of his mother house when he was about nineteen years old, entered the army at twenty - three, got out by twenty - seven, and has been in his cozy Brooklyn apartment ever since. Given all the time he'd been on his own, one would think he knew how to cook for himself, and he _does_ to a certain extent, but his regular chicken, noodles, and stir fry weren't gonna cut it with James. Steve knew that James would be grateful with _anything_ he prepared for them, but Steve still wants to dazzle James especially in such early stages of their relationship.

He feels the heaviest wave of Déjà vu when he stands clueless in the middle of the produce aisle in Brooklyn's busiest market, brain on a stand still when he can't think of one good recipe or meal that would satisfy James. Chicken and noodles are what he'd grown accustomed to in the army, and his stir fry was so played out that even Sam had gotten tired of it. He guesses he could fix a meal out of his mama's homemade cookbook but that was in some box in some storage space that Steve didn't really feel emotionally ready to open.

Darcy might as well be an accessory to him and James' relationship with how much she'll most likely end up assisting Steve to function through it. It's a Saturday - Darcy's day off - so he feels less guilty about calling her.

"_Two_ phone calls in _two_ days?" She says the moment she answers. "You must _really_ like this guy, Steve."

Stunned, Steve glances around the aisle to check the faces of other shoppers as if they'd heard her and were in just as much disbelief as him. He laughs nervously and pushes his empty cart to nowhere in particular while the phone is resting in his neck between his shoulder and ear.

"Okay, so good afternoon to you too, lovely," he responds almost sarcastically and laughs again. "How'd you know I was calling about James again?"

"Why else would you call me?"

That makes Steve feel bad, like he's using her. She wasn't wrong though; yesterday was the first time in maybe a month that he'd called her for anything. The sad part is Steve considers Darcy a friend.

"Oh, Darcy-"

"When was the last time we hung out, Steve?"

"Well, don't say it like_ that_. One of these days, I'll take you for dinner, yeah?"

Darcy squeals on the other end and a leaves a piercing ring in Steve's ears. "Will you really?"

"Absolutely!" he cheers promisingly and keeps pushing his cart, using sharp eyes to scan each product in these aisles. "But speaking of dinner-"

"Whoop, there it is," she interrupts dully. "What ya need?"

"I'm fixing him dinner tonight, and I kinda need your help in trying to make something. Like a _really special_ something."

"So, I'm guessing your date went quite well then to get a second date so quickly."

Steve's smile is widely goofy and involuntary, and any other day he'd feel like a fool for smiling so hard at a display of vegetables. "It did. So, any recommendations?"

Darcy sighs heavily. "Um, I guess you couldn't go wrong with lasagna or some kind of pasta. Try making spaghetti."

Steve's smile only increases, making the apple of his cheeks burn. "We had spaghetti _last night_."

"So, no Italian then."

"Any other suggestions?"

The line is dead silent for a moment with not even her breathing to be heard, and for a moment, Steve thinks she's hung up until her usual chipper voice makes him jump.

"Where're you?" She suddenly demands. He blinks back his confusion a bit.

"The market on 4th Avenue," he answers willingly and shakes his head. "Why?"

"Stay where you are. I'll be there in ten," she tells him quickly and just like that, she's disconnected and Steve is left dumbfounded staring at vegetables. He shrugs and pushes his cart around various aisles, dropping in his necessity of food items such as a bag of Granny Smith apples, dog food, chicken breasts, English muffins, fruit, and because he's in such a good mood, he gets a bag of assorted candy. Might as well get some grocery shopping done while he's here.

His cart is halfway full, and he's found himself in the freezer aisle when Darcy calls him.

"What aisle are you in?"

He checks the number above him. "Aisle twelve."

The line goes dead yet again, and about thirty second later, Darcy in all her glory rounds the corner into the aisle and bounds to Steve with a wide, pink grin playing on the curves of her plump lips. He barely has a moment to greet her before her grin diminishes at the two TV dinners in Steve's hands.

"You're not a struggling college student, okay," she reminds him and adds, "You're a big boy who can afford real food," then snatches the boxes from his hands and tosses them back into the freezer. Steve knows she's probably right, and elects to ignore her forwardness.

"Nice to see you, too," he replies in mock sarcasm only because he's serious, and in all actuality, it _is_ pleasant to see Darcy after such a long while. He'd almost forgotten what she'd looked like.

Everything about Darcy is big from her lips that compliment her smile to her active, blue eyes, to her bouncy, dark, long curls. Her stature only stands at 5'3, but it works for her, and she intimidated Steve regardless. Although he's a gentlemen, Steve chooses when Darcy isn't looking when he appreciates her larger, round breasts, those wide hips that descend to healthy, muscled thighs and an ass that jiggled just nicely when she walked. Steve bites his bottom lip when he embraces the younger woman to avoid groaning aloud.

"So, I know you weren't planning on feeding him _that_," she grimaces and points a sharp manicured finger towards the freezer door. He sheepishly shakes his head and half smiles.

Her own infectious smile reappears. "Awesome 'cus I found this amazing recipe for Mediterranean chicken. C'mon," she uses her hands to talk more than her mouth and catches Steve by surprise in catching his hand in her own and begins pushing his cart out of the aisle.

One could easily mistake the two for a couple by the way they make jokes and tease one another while they shop. Once upon a time before Steve discovered the beauty of working from home, they'd set up a routine of bringing coffee for one another every other day, carpooling, getting lunch together, and planning office parties. It'd been the brief time of Steve's life where he didn't have panic attacks and doubt himself constantly. He feels a sliver of that halcyon as he holds Darcy's hand while she puts ingredients into the cart.

"So, tell me a little about this guy," she says to him, poking his sides as the cashier swipes each item over the belt.

"He's a veteran," Steve starts, handing the cashier his debit card when his total is rung up. "Served in Iraq. He lives right down the hall from me with his daughter and -"

"Lookey lookey at Steve Rogers being a _step daddy_," she chimes seductively at the word 'daddy' and pokes him again.

Steve sneers like it annoys him to be deemed the step dad so early on in such a new relationship. He could pretend it didn't thrill him that Sam and Darcy had gone so far into the future that Steve _marries_ James.

"Step dad isn't even the right term," he corrects her and takes his card back from the cashier.

"Yeah, okay. How old is the kid?"

"Turned six over the summer," he answers, signs the receipt, grabs half of the bags, and exits the market with Darcy's arms around his, leading him to her car. He'd planned to walk to his apartment a few blocks over, but she insists on giving him a ride, and the whole way there, she interrogates him about James, and he only reveals so much since he doesn't know much to begin with. Darcy stays around to help him put the groceries away, and once the last can of pineapples is tucked safely into his pantry, she twirls on her combat boot heels and makes to exit.

"Well, Steve, it's been a real slice. I'll just get out of your way," she dismisses herself and waves almost sadly, but Steve's giant forearm suddenly loops around her slim waist, lifting her clean off the ground and setting her upon his marble island in the midst of the kitchen. She yelps in surprise but keeps her signature mischievous grin plastered on her face.

"You're not leaving yet," Steve tells her directly, practicing his authoritative voice. "I'm gonna need some help."

Darcy crosses her legs and nods, any traces of dislike not evident in Steve's straightforward nature.

"Okay, boss man," she agrees. "Whatcha wanna start on first?"

Darcy's a decent cook, Steve thinks. He really tries to be assisted more than being the assistant to avoid making it seem like Darcy cooked for him and James instead of him doing it himself. He's persistent in letting Darcy just showing him how to season the chicken with the selective spices or boiling the Jasmine rice in Stark's advanced rice cooker. He wants to do this for James as much as for himself. It gets to the point where she even shoos Carter out of the kitchen for fear of the growing pup to leap up the counter and steal some food, even though Steve assures that Carter's not prone to do such a thing.

But she just swats his hand away every time he dares to even reach for anything within her vicinity at the counter, and not before long, he sits at the island, accepting defeat while taking swigs of beer.

"Keep telling me about him. James, right?" She says after checking the condition of the black beans on the stove.

"Well, he's really attractive," Steve responds matter of factually. "Tall, grey eyes, usually has a bun in his hair and a smirk on his face. He's in a band."

"That's kinda hot."

"Yeah, I thought so, too. I went to this bar last night to hear him sing, and he's not half bad. In fact, he's _really_ damn good."

"You know what they say about people who date artists?" Darcy asks him, turning her head over her shoulder to peer indicatively at him.

He blushes in the preparation of a dirty answer simply because that's what he expects of Darcy. "No. What?"

"That they can never die," she answers honorably, making Steve flush inside his tight T-shirt. That's a sweet sentiment.

"Anyway, you were saying?" She prompts, and Steve bounces off of the bar stool to stand beside her and observe how she tenderly seasons and garnishes the chicken before placing it in the oven at three - hundred and fifty degrees.

"To be truthful, I can't say I know too much to tell you," he whispers lowly and scratches the back of his neck nervously. He's expecting a harsh judgment from Darcy but she shrugs and washes her hands of the seasoning.

"How'd you guys meet?"

Steve's first instinct is to laugh although the situation wasn't funny at the time. James few moments of vulnerability are the true relievers every time he masturbated. He'd been so scared and fragile and for that fleeting moment, the usual confident veneer of his was trace less.

"He thought he'd lost his daughter actually. He fell asleep when her Uncle came to get her for some ballet audition. We sat down and had some coffee, got to know each other a little. He's a cool guy. A widower, though," he doesn't mean to let that last part spill out because it was so personal, and Steve remembers how terrible he'd felt when James blatantly told him his wife had passed on.

Darcy dries her hands and twists a face. "A widower? How_ old_ is this guy?"

"About late twenties. She died really young, I guess. Maybe even while he was in Iraq."

Her lips poke out in a sad pout. "That's so sad. How'd she die?"

"I never thought to ask since he didn't tell me," he responds and tosses his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. "Their daughter, Mischka, must take after her."

"What kinda name is _Mischka_?" Darcy quirks in genuine curiosity at the odd name.

"It's Russian, I think. The mother was Russian," he confirms. He feels so weird talking about this woman when they've never even met ; he's so out of place with interacting with this family like it's his own.

"So, he's bisexual?"

"He told me he's gay," he says. "I guess Natasha was a one time thing in terms of his sexuality."

"You guys have sex yet?" She asks normally with surprisingly no lewdness in her tone.

"Trust me, I want to," he replies honestly, trying not to turn red by absently running his fingers through his hair. "Not so early though. I wanna get to know him a little more before jumping into bed."

An endearing smile flashes across her face. "That's sweet, Steve," she says and pokes his stomach. "I wish I could think like that."

"Why?"

"In this day and age, it seems pointless to wait for the physical stuff. If you're attracted to someone and they're attracted to you, why deprive yourself?"

That poses a good argument. "I can't give myself away so easily. I don't see sex as a game, I suppose," he tells her.

"Well, it's_ not_. I'm not saying it is," she scoffs a bit and waves her hands at him in a kidding fashion. "It's not that serious, though, Steve. _When_ was the last time _you_ had _sex_?"

"_When_ was the last time _you_ did?" He counteracts to avoid answering.

"Three nights ago," she says almost immediately with no hesitation or even the twitch of the eye. "Your turn."

He grimaces. "It's been a _while_."

"Oh, don't kid me. Weeks?"

Steve doesn't say anything.

"M-months?"

He's almost embarrassed to react. "Ugh-"

"_Years_?"

"Darcy, I told you _already_," he whines, rolling his eyes at why she cares so much. "I can't give myself up so _easily_."

They're both momentarily silent till she places her hand over Steve's as it pushes down on the counter, keeping his upright. "Steve, you're _really_ attractive. And it's a damn shame that it's been so long since you've let yourself, ugh," she glances off to the side in thought. "_Indulge_," she finally finishes and huffs her breath. "What're you waiting for?"

Steve stares off at the tile kitchen floor for a moment then swiftly cages Darcy in against the counter with his arms, making her eyes widen and chest rise and fall faster with little stutters in her breathing pattern. He feels a heat radiate from her. It could be the oven or stove, but she must feel his, too judging by how her active eyes search his face.

"The right partner," he answers curtly under his breath and her eyes droop to his pink mouth then back up to his hardening eyes. Her expressions is a justifiable mix of confused, sheepish, and aroused. As much as he'd like to, he doesn't kiss her but pushes off the counter and back against the island. The heat he felt from her dissipates with each step he takes backward.

"How long till dinner's ready?"

She blinks back her stunned expression. "I'd say forty-five minutes."

He nods. "Great," he says with no excitement given that the conversation had depressed him. "Mind helping me get dressed?" He doesn't really need her help in finding a pair of sweats and a t-shirt for a dinner date night in his apartment; it was just a conversation shift.

Darcy blinks once, twice and then her lashes flutter downward in embarrassment. Steve hadn't meant to make her feel like she'd imposed on his personal issues; they're friends, and sex shouldn't be a sensitive subject, but the idea of giving himself up to another person in such an intimate and vulnerable way so easily like it wasn't the most emotional thing he'd ever do inflicts a nauseous feeling in his stomach. The fact that such a sophisticated woman like Darcy questions him on it makes him feel even more uncomfortable. Steve doesn't judge anyone even though he wanted something special for Darcy as much as any one of his friends.

"What look did you have in mind?" she asks, fully recovered from their little moment with that normal confidence returned and her arms cross and eyeing him with her usual sparkling glance.

"Something casual for a dinner and a movie at home," he explains, taking her hand and leading her to his bedroom. Carter follows and leaps happily on Steve's bed while Darcy shuffles through the garments of clothing on the hangers in his walk-in closet. Within the first few seconds of her search, she finds him a decent pair of track pants and one of his nicer t-shirts. He changes right in front of her and she whistles.

Darcy follows Steve to the bathroom where he brushes his teeth as she perches herself atop his counter.

"Know anything else about this guy?"

"I know that _I like him_," Steve answers, inspecting his face hard to see if he'd needed a quick shave. "You ask about him a lot. Why?"

"So I know my boy's being taken care of." Her feet swing childishly as she talks and ends up poking his thigh with the toe of her boot.

"Well, enough about him and I," he announces and goes for his shaving kit in the medicine cabinet. "What have_ you_ been up to?"

She hunches her shoulders slowly and leaves them raised to waves her hands at the air. "Nothing much."

He eyes her.

"Really, Steve! Ain't much to tell."

"Yeah, okay," he says, unbelieving and spreads the shaving cream along his defined jaw.

"Actually-"

"I knew it," he mumbles as he wets the razor under the faucet.

"Actually," she says again and rolls her eyes this time. "I met a guy."

"The same one you had sex with three days ago?"

"I only said that to fuck with you."

He pauses and quirks a brow at her before grunting and running the razor over his left cheek. "Why?"

"'Cus you keep your panties way too tight in a wad. But it was more like a week ago than three days."

"What's his name?"

"Ian. Met him at one of my political science courses."

"How long you known him?" Steve runs the faucets again and washes the razor before putting it on his face again.

"Couple months. We kinda started dating a few weeks ago."

Well, at least Steve knows Darcy's being cared for; One less person to worry about.

James and Steve had settled on eight o' clock. Around seven - thirty, Darcy takes off, but not before Steve thanks her. He finishes shaving, brushes his teeth,puts on some deodorant, and feeds Carter so that she won't be rude in begging for their dinner.

In the fifteen minutes after Darcy's departure, there's a light knock on Steve's apartment door. Usually, Carter would be first to greet whoever's on the other side, but through treats and determination, Steve has finally trained her to stay put.

He reviews the state of the still cooking chicken in the oven, stirs the beans, and turns off the rice cooker in all in one slick, superhuman movement before rushing to the door. As expected, James is on the other side, wearing his personal uniform of black jeans, leather boots, glove on his left hand, and a tight smirk. Good thing he hadn't dressed up too much or else Steve will feel like a dick for not going out.

That smirk disappears when he takes sight of Steve's attire and lack of shoes. "You're not dressed," he says aloud, sounding more confused than anything. His eyes gets wide for a moment then they squint questioningly at Steve just nodding away, really trying his hardest to stay cool.

"You didn't forget we had a date," James' voice gets low and gruff, like he'd start crying. "_Did you_?"

"Of course not," he finally says nonchalantly, but it puts no further ease on James who really looks like he'd got his feelings hurt. He must think Steve is lying, and that cool demeanor he so effortlessly sports is nowhere to be found.

In fact, James almost looks like a reprimanded child who got their favorite toy taken away. Steve didn't count on that personality making an appearance tonight, so his first course of action to make James believe him is taking his right hand, pulling him into the apartment, and closing the door behind them. The aroma of the chicken in the oven has taken a life of its own in scenting the entire apartment, and once it reaches James' nose, his eyes flash to Steve's excitedly but his mouth stays in a frown.

"_Um_?"

Steve stays pressed against the door and suddenly feels this was a bad idea.

"I know it's only our second date, but -"

"Third," James corrects him and for a moment Steve thinks he's just trying to be funny, but there's no type of whimsical grin indicating so on his face.

"I know it's only our _third_ date and all, but I was thinking we could skip out on going out to eat and staying at home. A friend of mine and I cooked a little something. Hope you like Mediterranean chicken," Steve breathes all this out the best he can, scrunching his face nervously and prepared if James would want to hit him for being so presumptuous in thinking he'd want to stay in.

But instead of hitting him, James begins to toe each shoe off and remove his jacket revealing a Metallica band tee. "I do, Rogers," he affirms and tosses the jacket over to Steve for him to hang on the coat rack beside him. "How'd you know?"

"So, you're _not_ mad? You don't mind staying in?"

"Mad? Nah," he quips characteristically and glides towards Steve across the wooden floor in his black socks. "But I was really about to have an episode if you _had_ forgot out date," he adds and once he's close enough, he wraps his arms around Steve's narrow waist and pulls their bodies together easily. Steve lets him.

"Don't _ever_ do that again," he whispers and pecks the corner of Steve's mouth gingerly. "For future reference, I _don't_ do surprises."

Steve didn't like surprises either because most of the time, one would trigger him into a panic attack. It's either a coincidence or a common characteristic with war vets.

"Duly noted," he promises and kisses James full on the lips this time.

That electric current from last night clearly hasn't diminished, because within a second of the kiss, Steve feels consumed with nothing but the lips against his. He opens his mouth a bit and lets James' tongue massage against his own in a slippery yet forceful rush of contact. All Steve can taste is beer and toothpaste, but he really doesn't care. Each man's hands guide to the other's waist, and the physical interaction only sets the current stronger.

James pulls back first but only by an inch. "_Shit,_ Rogers," he damn near whimpers. "If I weren't trying to get you to like me, I'd probably forget all my manners and fuck you against this door."

"Then you'll miss out on the movie," Steve whines, kissing against James' jaw and steadily pushes the other man off of him. "And I already like you. However, I can't sleep with someone who has never seen _Titanic_."

James groans aloud, and it echoes through the apartment. Steve takes him by his hand and leads him towards the living room area where Carter has been patiently waiting for him to return.

"Hello, Carter," James greets the animal which excites her, setting her tiny tail wagging and mouth panting. "Did you know that your Daddy doesn't fuck people who haven't seen this godforsaken movie?" He playfully tells the dog while petting her head and scratching her neck. Of course, she doesn't understand him so she plays along anyway, but Steve tosses a decorative throw pillow at him.

"Hey!" James pretends to be caught off guard and tosses it back. He misses while Steve puts the disk into its correct slot and switches the TV input to the DVD station.

"I'd rather my daughter not know of my sexual escapades," he mutters and skips the previews to the get right to the main menu. He presses 'play,' takes a seat on the sofa, and pats the spot next to him, and naturally Carter thinks it's for her, but James beats her to the punch and plops next to Steve instead.

"We're not eating first?" James suddenly asks, getting comfortable by resting his head on Steve's shoulder with an arm slung protectively around the edge of the sofa.

"Chicken'll be ready in, like, twenty minutes," he answers and remembers to clap to set the lights off in the living room space. He'd never thought that'd gadget of Stark's would benefit him, but he'll thank him later.

Not even five minutes into the film, James is up to his usual antics from last night in tempting Steve for a kiss. This is clearly going to be a reoccurring thing in this relationship.

"C'mon, James," Steve pleads. "Just _watch_."

"But you look so pretty right now."

_Pretty?_ He's been called quite a few things, but that ain't one of them. "Baby, you're gonna miss the important parts."

"Why are we even watching this boring ass movie anyway? The boat sinks, okay?" He grumbles under his breath and crosses him arms across his chest like a child. Steve laughs and just scratches his fingernails through the other man's scalp.

"There's literally _nothing_ boring about 1997 Leonardo DiCaprio," Steve retaliates and shrugs. At his comment, James perks up and stares at Steve.

"Leonardo DiCaprio is in _this_?" His interest is clearly peeked. Steve is almost baffled, but he has to remember that James had never seen the movie - then again, one didn't have to see the movie to know something as simple as that.

"You like him?"

"_Like_ him?" James repeats and turns his attention to the screen. "He was practically the reason for ninety percent of my wet dreams when I was in high school."

Much to Steve's delight, James is finally quiet and paying attentive care to the movie. It takes about ten minutes before Jack Dawson appears on screen, and James makes a noise in the back of his throat that's so loud it vibrates his whole body against Steve's.

"Jesus, Steve," he moans. "He's _beautiful_."

"But I'm cuter, right?" Steve pokes his cheek, but he jerks away and gives him a stern glare.

"My husband's on screen. Could you not?"

Steve has to stifle a laugh or two by biting his bottom lip, and just as planned, the two watch the movie in peace with minimal interruptions unless it's a heated moan from James almost every time his supposed husband speaks or appears on screen.

"I'm just gonna go check on dinner, okay?" Steve assures James when he moves in the slightest to get up to get their food. James clings to Steve's waist and pouts cutely, but his eye don't leave the TV screen. "I'll be back," he sounds muffled with his lips against James' hair.

James lets him go reluctantly and he gets up to go to the kitchen where the smell gets stronger with each step. James continues to whine for him to come back.

"Watch the movie!" He yells behind him and turns the oven off. Using a cloth, he carefully takes the pan out of the oven and places it on his stove.

"_Stevie_, does he get naked in this?" James calls, using that damn nickname. Steve ignores the affect it has on him.

"Someone does," he answers in between getting two plates from the cabinet and starts putting proportionally even amounts of food on both of them. He keeps Darcy's presentation tips in mind when he sprinkling parsley and sauce over top of the mouth watering chicken she'd made. He wants to rush to get the food to James now so their date can continue, but paces himself and chooses to breathe and take it slow.

James keeps hollering questions to Steve every moment Jack isn't on screen, and Steve answers them until he's distracted with standing in front of the wine rack, trying to pick a wine that'd compliment their meal. He must've been standing their for quite a bit because he can already hear Jack asks Rose if she wants to go to a real party.

Unable to make the decision by himself, he swirls on his heels to holler out to James for his opinion, but is startled to see his date standing there in the archway, crestfallen as he stares at a blank phone screen.

"I was just about to ask what kind of wine you liked," Steve explains, yet James' face doesn't change. "What's wrong?"

That disappointment changes to annoyance when he pulls his head up to glare evilly at Steve. Immediately thinking he'd done wrong because Steve is that self-conscious, he thinks of an apology but it's not vocalized due to James' strict eye roll and an aggravated sigh.

"What is it?" Steve asks again.

James runs his glove through his hair and wags his phone in his right hand at Steve. "Work called. One of our, ugh, guys called in sick. I gotta go."

Those words coming out of James' mouth at this particular time couldn't have made Steve feel worse. He feels stupid for the great annoyance and crushed emotions he feels towards something James can't control.

"M'sorry, Steve," he begins, voice going up a few octaves like a little boy's. He almost sounds pleading and so goddamn submissive that Steve wants to believe this is all an act to get him to ditch the movie and dinner and just punish him in the bedroom.

"Gotta pay bills, right?" Steve forces a chuckles out but there's clearly no humor in his tone of voice. Truly upset, he places his hands on his hips and that action seems to make James even more apologetic.

"It beginning to seems like every time I'm with you I fuck up our good time," he announces, arms crossed and leaning against the arch way. Steve takes his sweet time stalking forward with a concerned gaze.

"That's_ not_ true. Why do you say that?"

James shakes his head. "I lost my daughter the first time. Second time, I tried to suck you off after knowing you for all of like a week, and now _this_. At least I'm consistent," he mutters dryly.

"First off, you didn't_ lose_ her," Steve rectifies, comfortingly placing both hands on each side of James' face. "And I wouldn't have met you if you hadn't come by that day."

"You would've."

"Probably not. We're both pretty shy, dontcha think?"

His thumbs rub along James' face. "I guess."

"And there's no shame in wanting to get physical after such a short time of knowing each other," he tells him hypocritically. Darcy would probably laugh if she heard him now versus this afternoon. Technically, he's not lying when he says this. Just because he didn't believe it didn't make it untrue.

"Yeah, but it was_ embarrassing._ I don't want you to think I'm just some easy lay or something."

"You're not," he assures him. "You're so hard on yourself and for what? To_ impress_ me?"

James' nod is small and juvenile. "I _really_ like you. Please don't think I don't. I wish I could stay, but -" he swallows and places Steve's hands in his own, bringing him forward. "Can we do a rain check? I probably won't be back until like one in the morning, so can we do this another time? When I'm not scheduled to work?"

"Of course."

For the first time in a while, James is reassured. "Really? You're sure about putting up with me?"

_I'm kinda interested in putting something up in you._ "Yes, baby, _I am_. C'mon, I'll walk you out."

Steve can tell James is stalling as much as possible when he put his shoes and jacket back on. Their lips seems to have a magnetic hold when they try to separate to let James leave.

"Call me tomorrow," Steve demands for the split second their lips are untouched.

"Yes, sir."

"Promise?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy."

James groans regrettably and finally crosses Steve's open door threshold. "Fuck, I hate everything."

"It'll be okay. I'll see you later."

"G' night,_ Stevie_," James slurs and rushes for one last quick peck before jogging down the stairs of the apartment building.

"Goodnight," Steve says to the empty hallway, lips still tingling but heart just a bit broken. His evening is not only ruined, but he doesn't have the nerve to tell James to stop calling him that _fucking nickname_.

Now he's alone - with the exception of Carter - with a movie and two plates of food on a young, Saturday night. After much thought, he figures it's still salvageable.

Darcy's on the other line in two seconds.

"Need dick sucking tips?"

"He left."

"You guys have a fight or something?"

"No, he, ugh had to go to work."

"Aw, Steve, -" she's about to sympathize, but he cuts her off. He doesn't need that; he just wants company.

"Are you free?"

"Right now? Yeah."

"Come over. This is gonna make up for that dinner I owe you."

"You guys didn't even get to eat?"

"_Darcy_," he grits out toughly. "There's no need to remind me. Just come over,_ please_."

She exhales into her receiver, and he hears an shuffling noise on her end. "I'm getting dressed now. Be there in a few."

"Thanks, Darcy. Bye."

"See ya!"

True to her word, Darcy is knocking at Steve's door in a few minutes, and Steve's so grateful that he wraps his arms tight around her shoulder and kisses her forehead.

Darcy, like most normal people, had seen _Titanic_, but sat and ate with Steve through the entire three hours. They laugh and talk and praise their cooking, but he still wishes James were here more than anything. When midnight comes around and he and Darcy start a batch of brownies, he tries his hardest not to make passes at Darcy just because she's present and James isn't. Steve couldn't explain why, but it was like he was drunk and in the absence of James, Darcy became ten times hotter.

Once the dessert was cooked, they found themselves on Steve's couch yet again eating their hearts away. Darcy tells Steve more of Ian, and he's happy that she's found someone, but he just _couldn't stop thinking_ about James.

Two AM rolls around now, and he awakes her from her nap like he promised he would twenty minutes earlier. She leaves, and he tells her to be careful driving before she goes, leaving him alone yet again. He could be cuddling on the couch with James if it weren't for fucking work. Where the hell does he even work anyway? Steve knows he should just get some rest before he truly upsets himself over things he can't change. It still didn't seem fair though.

He turns the movie off, cleans up his kitchen, and Carter joins him in miserably laying wide awake in his bed.

* * *

_Hey did u wanna do something tonight? We could try dinner at home again._

_**JAMES:** Love to but I have work later. I'm sorry :(_

Steve stares down at the text James had sent him over an hour ago.

It'd been three days since he had to leave early for their _Titanic_ date, and Steve had slowly been losing his mind every hour since. Two days earlier, he'd occupied himself with work of his own and managed to send in a story plot for an upcoming project at _S.H.I. _., but that didn't make him any happier. He supposes he can't fault James for having a job that's not as flexible as his own, but calling one night off wouldn't hurt would it?

Steve isn't selfish enough to ask him to do such a thing.

He wants to be selfish with James.

If he could, he'd keep him cooped up like a chicken in his bedroom where he's free to cuddle him, kiss him, touch him, feed him, and do anything that'll keep them as intimate as possible. He'd be lying if he said he never wanted to just make love to the man for hours on end and then hold him in his arms at night to keep him safe from any and everything. James is so fragile and precious to Steve, and he has no explainable clue as to why in the almighty hell this man he barely fucking knows has such a gripping hold on him. Steve wants to curse the day he ever even saw James for the first time because if he hadn't, he wouldn't have ever seen how gorgeous he was and thus gotten so attached. Steve's been fucked since day one. He _hates_ it. No, he _loves_ it.

One could say Steve's fear of being so fascinated with James after such a short time could be attributed to him being single almost a damn decade. Times have changed since the last time he'd been with anyone the way he is with James, who seems to be the only one who's sparked Steve's interest since his last partner. That has to mean _something_. James must mean _something_ more. Fate is involved between them, right? Steve's willing to believe so. With lack of self-preservation, he's put his whole heart on the line for someone like James if it meant he could get a fraction of the same feeling he'd felt eight years ago.

Leaving Afghanistan as well as his last breakup are harsh factors in his boring life, and before James, he would've kept it that way. Since getting involved with him, he finds himself doing things he'd never do, as well as even _forgetting_ some steps in his routine. It scares him. He'd end up having panic attack after panic attack trying to explore outside his comfort zone just to be with James. It seems worth it time James tells him how much he likes him when his doubts and anxiety start to kick in.

_it's ok ... some other time i guess,_ he finally types back, swallowing hurt feelings.

Steve sets his phone back down on his desk and returns to drawing the comic panel he'd been finishing for a deadline at midnight. If he's gonna be at ease and be at one with the Earth in drawing, he'd might as well continue to get some work done. He finishes a line or two of dialogue before his phone chirps and vibrates with a text message.

_**JAMES:** please dont hate me Steve_

Steve doesn't even get to tell him he doesn't feel that way before another text appears on the screen.

**_JAMES: _**_i swear ill make it up to u _

**_JAMES: _**_i feel like shit for continuously bailing on u _

He doesn't allow James to send another text before answering him.

_Please dont feel bad baby. we're fine :) _

_**JAMES:** stop that_

Steve furrows his eyebrows and his thumb dance awkwardly over the keyboard. "Ugh," he hums and begins to type.

_stop what?_

James is quick to text back.

_**JAMES:** being so fucking nice to me_

_why?_

_**JAMES:** I really don't deserve it_

_feeling guilty about something?_

_**JAMES:** YES! I don't want u to think im not into you bcus I am trust me I am I swear_

_**JAMES:** I hate that work is taking up so much of my time and I really don't wanna neglect what we have_

_**JAMES:** especially when it's so new_

_**JAMES:** please don't hate me haha_

"I don't fucking hate you," he snaps at his phone and grimaces at the his uncalled for language. He sets his phone down for a moment to take a breath because he's two beats away from calling James to pour his heart out.

He picks the phone back up and sighs.

_i don't hate you...it's ok_

_**JAMES**: r u free this week?_

If Steve makes his deadline, he will be.

_yeah_

_**JAMES:** I know this isn't really an ideal date but would you like to come to the park with the little devil and i on Thursday? u could bring Carter if you'd like_

_**JAMES:** it could be a family affair_

Steve heart damn near hauls itself out of his chest at the word '_family_.'

_that sound fun ill be there_

_**JAMES:** and maybe afterwards we could drop the brat off at home and we can do some grown people shit ;)_

Steve's mood instantly lightens.

_What'd u have in mind?_

_**JAMES:** I gotta lot to make up to you so i can start by sitting through the movie for you_

Steve smiles at the multiple heart emojis.

_For me? Youre sitting through it for Leo..._

_**JAMES:** same difference_

Steve laughs aloud and it awakens Carter from under the desk. He pets her gently with delicate fingers and types back messages with his other hand. After sending off another text, his phone beeps almost ten seconds later.

James is a shockingly fast texter for someone who wears a glove all the time.

But Sam's name is displayed on Steve's phone screen instead of James'. He opens the message.

_**SAM:** when was the last time you went to a club?_

That's an odd question.

_I was at the VA like yesterday...?_

_**SAM:** nah man like a night club with alcohol and music and dancing_

Steve does some mental math in his head and types.

_2009 ... I was 26 and never been back since cus I realized that grown men don't belong in such clubs...why?_

Sam takes a hesitant moment to reply.

_**SAM:** 'cus I kinda wanna go to that new place HYDRA on 44th I hear it's got good action_

_you're 34 don't u think ur too old for that? /:_

_**SAM:** ill be 34 NEXT month and no I don't - besides I'm bringing Maria so u guys can meet and who knows maybe youll meet someone of your own ?_

Steve's face twists up at that. "I already did meet someone," he mutter to himself and second guesses as he begins to scroll through the text he'd just exchanged with James.

The idea was completely harmless. Yeah, he's dedicated to James, but they're in such a new state with one a other that it probably wouldn't hurt to just mingle. James certainly _wasn't_ his _boyfriend_ \- if anything, he's simply the guy that gave Steve the confidence to begin dating again. Surely, Steve wouldn't go to this club with the intentions of meeting someone; that'd make him a hypocrite especially since he'd told James he was serious about him enough to prevent him from going on anymore first dates.

He supposes he could go for Sam's sake - even though they're both much too old to voluntarily put themselves through the ridiculousness of a night club - and if Steve just so happened to meet someone that'd sparked his interest like James had, he had every right to pursue that person. He doubted that'll happen though, and he's_ not_ the type to hurt feelings.

At the end of the day, he's conflicted. He knew he has the freedom to do what he wants, as does James, but all the while he wants to go, but he wouldn't want James to.

"Whatever," he exhales and types.

_sounds cool ill go_

_**SAM:** really? great! Maria and I will get you at 10 tonite_

_OK_

Steve sets his phone face down beside the nearly finished panel. He exchanges his regular pencil for a red color pencil and shades in corners and edges. Halfway through making the finishing touches on the panel, he figures a phone call to Darcy about club attire is in order.

* * *

In an outfit similar to his first date outfit, Steve sits on a bar stool, eating a bowl of Special K cereal, intently staring at his phone until it beeps with a message from James.

_**JAMES:** so whered u say you were heading tonight_

Steve balances the spoon in between his teeth and uses both hands to reply.

_idk the name but it's some club on 44th_

Steve finishes his cereal and washes out the bowl before James texts back. He's never taken that long to do so.

_**JAMES:** HYDRA_

_yeah that's the place u know it?_

_**JAMES:** been there once w/ Clint_

_friend of mine says it has good action whatever that means lol what do u think?_

_**JAMES:** good action? I guess u could say that_

In the middle of Steve's response, his phone begins to ring and vibrate, displaying Sam's name on the screen. He pressed the green button and puts the phone to his ear.

"You're outside?" He says first and steps off the stool. On his way to the door, he flicks the kitchen light off and gets his keys from the bowl of mail on the side table beside the door.

"Not exactly. Meet us outside."

Steve hangs up the phone, pets Carter goodbye, and exits his apartment to trot lightly down the steps. He stands outside for a minute or two before Sam's silver sedan pulls up to the curb. Once Steve is safely inside the backseat with a seat belt on, Sam turns around in the driver's seat and points to the woman in the passenger's.

"Steve, this is Maria. Maria, this is Steve, New York's finest human brick all," Sam introduces and her laughter fills the whole car. Steve smiles a little.

"Very funny, Sam," he mutters and extends his neck to see her face. She's fair skinned, dark brunette straight hair in a tight low bun, pink, thin lips, bright, blue eyes similar to Steve's shade.

"Nice to meet you, Maria. I've heard a bit about you."

Maria smirks and nods her head towards Sam. "All nice I assume," she says more to him than Steve. Sam curves off the curb and begins the cruise down the street.

"Sam can't seem to shut up about you," Steve says, and gets his phone out to reply to James' text. After doing so, he glances at Sam through the rear view mirror, and the look on his face shows he'd be pink if his skin were light enough to show it.

"Sounds like Sam," Maria giggles and puts her hand over the one of his that isn't on the steering wheel.

On the way to the club, Sam and Maria play some of their music in an attempt to pump Steve up for tonight's events, but he's much too invested in he and James' conversation to the point where he doesn't even realized they'd been in the car for half an hour before pulling up to a parking space across the street from the club. They await in the line circling around the brick building - that seemed to be vibrating with how loud and heavy the bass of the music within is - for no longer than forty five minutes, before they reach the bouncer, flash their eligible ID's, and get in without a problem.

Night clubs had certainly changed since Steve had last been in one. He _doesn't_ remember them being this dark or loud or immediately irritating, but he _does_ remember piles of assorted seven inch heels from random club girls that couldn't bear to wear them any longer as well as the musty and stuffy overlay in the air produced by sweat off of dancing bodies, perfume, and obnoxious cologne.

He takes a seat at an empty bar stool and before he orders anything, he strains his eyes to see the kind of mess he'd let Sam convince him to partake in.

As he'd suspected, there can't be anyone here besides himself, Sam, and Maria that's over the age of at least thirty. They're all practically fucking children. It's their dancing that truly throws Steve off - should a person's hands even roam _there_ in public?

Steve is no prude, but some of the dance moves that these animals are voluntarily doing make him wonder where ever the hell their poor parents are. If that weren't a reason enough to leave, being in a facility like HYDRA made Steve feels like the fatherly figure who showed up to bust the party. If he hadn't been mentally reminding himself that these kids are doing this by freewill and that he's here for Sam, he'd probably would've left by now.

Well if he's being honest, the music _wasn't_ unbearable. The bass line was repetitive, and the lyrics held little meaning, but the song itself wasn't terrible. He'd heard worse.

He doesn't warm up to the atmosphere till he spots Sam and Maria having a grand time on the dance floor. They don't necessarily have rhythm, but they look like they're having fun which was the whole point of him going out. Maybe _that's_ why Sam invited him - Steve's been complaining and stressing over he and James for a minute or two so Sam could only assume that his friend needed to get out. That'd been a nice gesture, so Steve shouldn't be so sour. It's not like he was busy tonight, anyway.

Sighing and swiveling in the bar stool, he turns his head right and left in search of a bartender. Once he has her attention, he orders himself a beer which he sips delicately, trusting he's in need of something stronger given his passed few days. He goes through another bottle of beer, a neat whiskey and Sam assuring that he's having a good time before realizing he'd already spent an hour at the bar and he's actively trying to ignore a conversation going on two bar stools from his own.

"Baby, you're _far too fine_ to be at this place all by yourself," the guy says, slurring and clearly drunk.

The female tries to brush it off. "Thank you."

"You got a man?"

There's a pause. "I do, actually."

_She's lying._

"Is he here?"

"No, he's not, but-"

"So, then he wouldn't mind if we danced a little?"

"I've been here for a while. My feet hurt," she lies again.

"All you gotta do is follow my lead, honey."

_Oh, Jesus,_ Steve thinks to himself. _Get lost, man. She's not interested._

"Ugh, sorry. I have a boyfriend, remember?"

_No, you don't._

It makes Steve sick to his stomach that she'd use _that_ specific excuse instead of just saying _no_ because guys like this one are persistent as fuck.

"But, it'd really make my night!" he continues. "You're fine as fuck. Your boyfriend gets you all the time, so lemme just have you for tonight."

The female nervously chuckles, making Steve feel almost angry. He could approach the situation one of two ways: minding his business and let the woman fight her own battle or doing some age old hero cliche. He's never been the kind to stand by or tolerate bullies or self entitled drunks who think saying that kinda shit picked up girls at bars. _Who the fuck_ did he think he is?

Steve does a quick glance in the direction of the two of them, and sees the blonde female sitting upon a bar stool, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap over her tiny skirt, and facing straight ahead to the dance floor while the guys talks to her profile.

"What's so wrong about just shaking ya ass a lil' bit for me, huh? You're here alone, right? Ain't _nobody_ gon' tell on us," his voice goes low and predatory, and Steve becomes alert instantly, eyes downward while his ears strain to here them.

"No thanks," she replies confidently.

"Please? One dance, baby," he eggs on.

_Mention your boyfriend again!_ Steve really does try to mentally push his thoughts to hers as though they had telepathy senses.

"Boyfriend wouldn't like that too much."

_Good girl!_

In some insistence, that _"I have a boyfriend"_ shit is the only way they'll back off because they see that girl as her boyfriend's possession to not be touched out of respect for the boyfriend rather than the girl. Saying that you have a boyfriend protects you, because _no_ somehow always doesn't mean _no._

Steve exhales a breath that he'd purposely been holding and lifts from his stool to stride over unsuspectingly two bar stools down. Without much of a plan, he goes right in and places his hand on the female's side, startling her, then pecks her cheek adoringly.

"Hey, babe," he says, turning his back to the guy to pay him no mind while his eyes widen at the woman all the while darting them behind him, praying she picks up on his message. She turns pink after a moment, and nods at him to show her understanding. She returns the gesture and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry, I'm late. Traffic was a bitch. Whose your _bitch_? I mean_ friend_..." He finally turns to the man and shakes his head dumbly at his misuse of words. The man looks caught and guilt ridden while Steve smirks tauntingly in his face.

"Oh, I just met him. Babe, this is...?"

She extends a manicured hand to him, and he clears his throat. "Tom, he says.

"Tom!" Steve exclaims and clasps a forceful hand on his shoulder. "Nice to meet you, man. Thanks for keeping my girl company. You have a goodnight!"

Dismissed, Tom just nods and waves at the female before disappearing with a cloud of shame over his head onto the dance floor. Growling, Steve rolls his eyes at the direction he'd went in and turns towards the female.

"You alright?"

She nods cheerfully. "I'm fine. Thank you. Thought that kinda shit only happened in movies."

"What? Drunk asshole that try to pick up pretty girls?"

She pauses for a moment to think, whirling her lips into a grateful smile. "Nice people like yourself," she pokes his chest. "I'm Sharon, your girlfriend. Nice to meet you...?"

"Steve," he introduces himself and almost bows politely to her. Well, she is pretty enough for it.

"So, _Steve_, what's a nice guy like you in a place _like this_?"

"Saving princesses from fire breathing dragons," he deadpans, making her laugh. "Which brings me to a question of my own - why're _you_ in a place like this?"

"A friend of mine just turned nineteen. I'm the oldest in the group, standing at a solid, rickety twenty-one which means I have to buy those losers alcohol. Good enough reason?"

"It'll suffice," he says and stares her down. "You're _twenty- one_?" he asks, shocked. She handles herself quite well at such a young age while Steve hadn't gotten a solid groove in himself till thirty.

"As of this June, yes. I wouldn't be shocked if you said I don't look a day over eighteen. How old are _you?_ Twenty- five?"

Steve was probably face down in some dirt in the middle of Afghanistan when he was twenty - five, _not_ conversing with pretty girls. "Ugh," he groans. "I'm a_ bit_ older."

"Can't be_ too_ old. You seem young enough to be a dickhead, but old enough to not be, " she shrugs coolly. "But, thanks, though. That took balls."

"Doing the right thing usually does."

"But, still though. Thanks."

"No, problem, Sharon. It was fun playing boyfriend with you."

_Was Steve flirting?_

"Well, you _could_ play just a little while longer, _can't you_?" Her eyes narrow expectantly, almost wanting.

She's flirting back.

Could Steve do this? Was he capable of it? Did he really wanna go down this path with a complete stranger right now especially since James leaves him utterly clueless?

"What'd you have in mind?"

"A little dance."

Steve couldn't dance, but neither could any of the people on the floor. He had rhythm when it came to sex, and the only definitive line between that and whatever the hell is going on on the dance floor is clothes.

A little flirting _couldn't_ hurt. Besides, he's _not_ cheating.

But, it still doesn't feel right.

Shamefully, he shakes his head. "Ah, sorry. I would, but I'm kinda, -"

Her face drops, disappointed but understanding. "Oh, that's okay. But thanks again, Steve._ Really_," she says in his ear when she stands seductively close to his body, radiating a heat similar to Darcy's when he'd teased her in his kitchen. Her lips ghost over the shell of his ear when she giggles and runs her hands across his chest and away when she struts through the crowd back to her friends.

And with her the heat goes, leaving Steve flushed. He never feels that sort of confused heat with James, and maybe that's saying something.

* * *

Another hour goes by at the bar and Sam and Maria are a sweaty mess when they check in on his for the _fourth freaking time_. It annoys Steve because he doesn't need Sam or _anybody_ trying to be an enabler over him having fun.

It's close to midnight when Steve grows truly exhausted. He's not necessarily drunk at this point, but his head _is_ fuzzy. Although he can control himself, he would much rather lay down in his bed with his puppy where it's quiet and he can get his hands on a sketchpad and pencil. Thank goodness he'd gotten his work done before he left, but he almost wishes he hasn't so he'd have an excuse to leave this place.

He wants James, too.

Fuck, he wants him so badly.

With the alcohol in his system battling his emotions and senses, he can almost see James' stunningly perfect face on some guy that bares a resemblance to him on the farther side of the club near the entrance. The man is grinding expertly against the ass of some other guy, with his hands on the man's waist, mouth against his ear, hips moving sharply, but all in the name of good fun and cheap thrills. It almost turns Steve on.

The man also has on something James would wear from the tight jeans to the boots to the lack of shirt to the...

_The glove on the left hand?_

Steve brings his drink to his face, inspects the inside for signs of it being spiked, and downs it when he finds none.

Maybe he's not seeing correctly, and he misses James so much he's manifesting him onto others.

However, blinking really hard multiple times doesn't change what he's seeing which is James against some guy that is not Steve, having a guiltless ball of fun. Steve stares even harder to assure that it's _him_, and_ it certainly is._

The first thing Steve feels is sheer jealousy.

After that comes betrayal.

Then stupidity.

He's not sure how he should react initially.

Firstly, he knows he can't get jealous because James isn't his - and _fuck_, he hates that reminder - but he won't hesitate feeling dumb and betrayed because James lied to him and for _what?_ Because he didn't wanna hang out with him tonight? Did anything he_ ever_ tell Steve mean a goddamn thing? Did he even like him? Unless dry fucking strangers in clubs is this job he seems so dedicated to, than maybe Steve should cut him off _now _before he gets any deeper than his is - which is pretty damn deep.

Is he doing this on purpose? He'd told James he'd be there tonight, but not a single fuck was given about getting caught.

Maybe he didn't feel as invested in the relationship as Steve does. Steve had been losing his mind over this relationship - if that's what the hell it is - and he feels more than cheated and unappreciated.

Or it could be his own fault.

No one told him to get attached.

James is a free man who can do whatever he pleases, and if that means doing what he's doing right now, then so be it. He shouldn't have expected loyalty of this mysterious man so early on.

Despite that, he deserved honesty.

Though he watches with a hurting ache in his chest and a hurricane of emotions swirling in his head, he can't find it in himself to get mad at James the way he's mad at himself. How could he have been so _stupid_? Fuck, he'd let himself get so caught up and vulnerable to someone he doesn't even know.

Steve wouldn't result himself to crying and making a blubbering mess of himself in public so he rushes to pay for his drinks, and hails himself a cab. He shoots Sam a speedy, uninformative text about having to rush home. When he arrives to his apartment, he's nearly tempted to knock on James' door to assure he's home, and he's making something out of nothing. But he doesn't, and just goes into his own home to cry silently to himself while _Titanic_ plays on his TV screen.

He tells Carter that it's Jack's death that makes him cry like this, but she knows him all too well.


	6. 6

Steve had gone through a tub of cookie dough ice cream in an attempt to literally eat his feelings by the time Thursday came. Sam knows something is up with Steve since he has what he calls 'Steve Rogers senses' in which he can tell when something's the matter with him. Along with that, he'd taken note of Steve's unlikely absence at Monday and Wednesday's VA meetings.

_"I had to order two burgers man and eat them all by myself,"_ he'd pretended to complain to Steve when he'd finally answered one of his many calls. That made a fraction of Steve's day better.

He wanted to tell Sam what had happened at HYDRA, but he knew Sam could either tell him to stop being upset over something as innocent as dancing at the club or to just stop entertaining his thoughts with James if he feels _this_ strongly about the situation. Sam would only unintentionally make him feel even dumber than he already does. He wanted to talk about what he'd seen with James so he at least had a chance to explain himself.

There was no reason for him to _lie_ to him though.

As hurt and confused as he is, he still hadn't canceled their park date, so he's still _not_ rebel to the idea of James just yet.

In fact, their date is the main reason he had even gotten out of bed that day. The days since Saturday had been filled with ice cream, chick flicks, and Carter. It sounds cliche, but it wouldn't be much of a change from his usual routine. He did feel bad for doing that to himself; he needed some exercise as did Carter. She had to be tired of being cooped up.

Every pang of anger and betrayal he feels vanishes the moment James sends him a text some time that afternoon asking if they were still on for today. He spits out his toothpaste and rinses his mouth before grabbing his phone.

_of course_, he types back.

_**JAMES:** Great! I've missed u babe_

"Didn't seem to miss me _so_ much at HYDRA," he grumbles to himself and runs the faucet over his toothbrush. Carter whines behind him.

_Quit being such a baby,_ she's saying with her head cocked to the side and a doggish curve over her mug.

He knows she's right, and she truly does live up to her namesake.

"You quit whining," he says back, eyeing her through the mirror. She doesn't seem fazed.

_I will when you do._

He washes his face and applies moisturizing cream - thanks to Darcy - then checks the weather before getting dressed. It's nearing the end of August, so there's a faint chill in the air. After settling on black basketball shorts, a white tee shirt, and a striped hoodie, he puts on his tennis shoes and clinks Carter's pink leash around her collar.

"Which toy do you want?" He asks the ecstatic animal as she leaps around the apartment at the excitement of going to the park. She still understands him though and rummages with her big, brown nose through her toy bin next to Steve's desk.

While she decides, he assures he has his wallet, fully charged phone, and apartment keys. It takes her another minute to find her favorite tug-of-war rope and present it to Steve. He loops the end of her leash around his wrist, locks the apartment behind him when he exits, and walks the five steps over to James and Mischka's apartment.

Steve's knuckles against the apartment door echo through the hallway. Carter would lose her mind if she weren't properly trained when Mischka answers the door. Steve's almost surprised to see that her hair isn't in it's usual bun but instead a slick ponytail.

"Hey, Steve," she greet him with active eyes and apparent anticipation for their day's plans. Her and Carter are practically one in the same.

"Hey, little bit." He raises an eyebrow at her. "You shouldn't be opening up the door without asking who it is first."

"It could either be you or Uncle Clint. Why ask?"

"Ever heard of 'stranger danger'?"

"Yeah, but my Daddy says if there's ever danger I should scream _really loud_. Scream so loud that their eyeballs pop out and their ears bleed."

"And what happens if screaming doesn't work?"

"Doesn't matter. My Daddy said he'll _always_ keep me safe."

He doesn't have the heart to poke holes in her limited logic - that'd be a dick thing to do. It's not like she's delusional when she said this; she just didn't know anything beyond James, Clint, her other Uncles in The Howling Commandoes when it came to adults - specifically males - so she had _no clue_ what someone else is capable of in terms of kidnappings or worse.

"Are you just gonna stand there or you coming in? My daddy's doing his hair, so he might be a while," she explains and opens the door further and backs away into her apartment. He hadn't expected to come inside, so he lingers in the threshold for a second until Carter follows the girl. He shuts the door behind him and leans against it.

Their apartment was _nothing_ like he'd expected. He'd predicted they'd own some sort of musical instrument - two acoustic guitars in the farthest corner of the living room and a grand, black piano facing the window - but he didn't expect to see _so much_.

Steve feels like he's stepped into a museum or a thrift shop of sorts with the candy apple painted walls and the classic movie posters, pictures of Mischka, various certificates and degrees, whimsical wall trinkets, and shelves that hang from them all organized and spaced evenly like it was a photo from an IKEA magazine. The book shelves containing highly acclaimed authors and _Star Wars_ figurines are a surprise to him. The man had time for _Star Wars_, but not _Titanic_?

"Daddy, Steve is waiting for you!" Mischka yells throughout the cluttered space. All Steve hears is a muffling from the master bedroom where he assumes James is.

Thoroughly distracted, Steve's grip on Carter's leash drops and she joins Mischka on the couch where the little girl is reading a book. He'd reprimand her, but he's far too invested in the pictures on the wall. There are nearly all of Mischka in chronological order from when she was born till most recent in the style in a collage next to a Salvador Dali inspired clock.

There's one from when she's a baby, so preciously tiny, in James' arms as he sits in a blue hospital chair staring down at her in her sleeping state with tired yet adoring eyes. He looks absolutely in love. Must've been taken moments after she was born.

The one next to it shows a stumbling Mishcka in a frozen moment of her trying to walk for what must be the first time. She can't be more than a year old. She looks so content as lines of drool dripping out her toothless smile and onto her comfy panda bear onesie pajamas.

"Aw, sweet baby," he trills low enough so only he hears. "Cutie."

With each photo in the collage, his body feels warmer with lighthearted cheerfulness. He'd never experienced that kinda of joy in having a human child. He loves his pup, but it's easy admitting that he'd never knew how much he yearned for a wife or a husband and a baby to biologically call his own till laying eyes on Mischka. He sees no issue in that. James' a blessed bastard regardless of how hurt he carries himself.

There's one picture that catches photo Steve's attention more than the other ones. It's a picture of a younger Mischka, but the main focal point isn't necessarily the baby.

It's the woman holding her.

The setting is what Steve can tell is an apartment unlike this one. It's definitely smaller and right in the middle of the photo stands a short woman wearing jean shorts that graciously hug her wide hips and thick thighs and a blue sweatshirt. The woman has skin a shade lighter than Mischka's with a spiral curled, red, bob and features similar to the baby like green eyes and a heart shaped face. Her smile is bright as she side glances the baby in her arms and faces the camera's flash that illuminates the wedding ring clear as day on her left hand. She looks like a college student, way too young to have a baby let alone married.

This must be Natasha.

_Fucking hell_, she's kinda _hot_.

Mischka had _nothing_ to worry about in the looks department now and damn sure won't later if she turns out anything like Natasha. Well, fuck, even if she took after James, she'd be aesthetically set for life.

"_Damn_," he says under his breath, and doesn't realize how close he'd gotten to the photo on the wall till a sudden voice knocks him from his entranced state.

"_Steve_?" James is right beside him, arms and legs crossed coolly as he leans against the only patch of the wall that isn't covered. "I said, are you ready?"

If Steve had been _truly angry_ with him before, he can't be now with how sweet and innocent James looks with his hair hiding his irreproachably shy, flawless face, that tight long sleeve that lets no muscle go unnoticed and that damn _left glove_. Carter and Mishcka are already by the door.

"Ugh," he stutters and tries his darndest to _not_ look at the photo again, but he instinctively does anyway then back at James to conjure up an image at how amazing their sex probably was. James had never expressed any interest in girls, but when he does, he picks the cream of the crop.

"Sorry," he says instead. "Got distracted," he whispers and wants to die when he points at the collage.

"Oh. Nice, huh?" James smiles endearingly at Steve, moving in a space or two to be just inches from him.

"Yeah. Um, is, ugh, this woman -"

"_That's_ Natasha," he states fondly, tapping the photo with his knuckle. "Dime, isn't she?"

"More like the whole damn bank," Steve utters, and James chuckles. He pokes the blond man's bicep.

"She'd kick your pretty ass if she heard you say that." James says more like a nostalgic reminder than a tidbit of information.

"Oh, yeah?"

"She was a tough, little egg to crack," he shrugs and grins widely at the picture. "She'd like you though. Had a thing for big, buff guys."

"And yet, she was with _you_?"

His laugh causes for his eyes to crinkles. "Oh, you got jokes, huh? Natasha liked jokes. As a matter of fact, I'd told her one right before snapping this picture. You wanna hear it?"

"Lay it on me."

He shuffles off the wall to rest his chin on Steve's shoulder. "Do you work for Dominos? 'Cus you's a fine pizza ass."

The eye roll that follow that is what's gets James laughing again.

"Wasn't_ that_ bad! She liked it."

"Well, she was married to you, so I guess she'd grown accustomed. Anyway, that's a pick up, not a joke."

"She said the same thing. She found it funny, but damn near ripped my head off and threatened to kill me if I never said that line again."

"And then what?"

His face slumps but not out of sadness. "Eh, I think we fucked afterwards."

"_Language_," Steve warns and nods his head to their daughters at the front door who are growing impatient each second they're not in the park.

"You usually like what comes _out_ my mouth," he whispers into Steve's ear subtly and places a nip at the earlobe, making Steve's knees get weak. He keeps this shit up, and _nobody_ will make it to the park.

"I'd be more interested in putting something _inside_ of it," he responds and James' head jerks up to give Steve the most adoring and shell shocked look he could. His bottom lip even quivers.

"Like a sock 'cus, Barnes, you_ talk way too_ _much_," Steve finishes and before that look can drop, he kisses him chastely then pulls away. "C'mon. The park awaits."

Mischka has a sturdy grip on Carter's leash the whole four blocks to the running park across the street the fine arts elementary school that Mischka'd be attending in the fall. The moment they arrive, Mischka's adrenaline peaks and she's more than ready to do laps around the massive greenery with Carter trotting beside her. But before she can begin her lollygagging, James sits her down between Steve and himself on a vacant bench.

"You know the rules, right?"

"_Yes_, Daddy," she whines anxiously.

He doesn't pay it any attention. "What are they?"

"Don't talk to strangers or accept their candy," she answers like an automated voice message.

"And if they try to?" James prompts and glares her down expectantly with hoping purpose in his eyes.

"Scream really loud."

"Until?"

"Their eyeballs pop out and their ears bleed. Can I go _now_?"

James clicks his tongue, eyes never leaving her face. Steve can see the obvious worry in his features, and her impatience wasn't faltering his persistence in asking her these questions.

"What else?"

"Stay where you can see me, check in every ten minutes, don't hurt myself. That's all of them. Can _me and Carter_-"

"Carter and I," Steve reminds her and if she shoots his an evil scowl, he doesn't notice it as he scans the park for potential threats. It's a veteran thing, Sam had told him.

"Can _Carter and I_ go play now?"

James sighs though he's not totally relaxed. "If it's okay with Steve."

Her scowl is replaced with a sweet pout and fawn-esque pleading eyes. He smiles at the little girl and nods. "Have fun."

She instantly jumps from off the bench with Carter's leash in one hand and the rope toy in the other. The two of them settle on a spot in the green ten feet from the bench where a game of tug-of-war ensues. Around them are joggers and other parents their with their kids and dogs. The scene is peaceful and somewhat gorgeous the way the statuesque trees sway within pre- autumn winds. Leaves have already begun to wither away and fall towards the Earth.

_It's safe_, Steve concludes and eases up. His arm goes around James and pulls him in. "She's okay."

James half listens and the tense fixture in his body reduces second by second. His whole body goes lax under Steve's touch, but his eyes are still alert.

"Sorry," he apologetically mutters with a frown. "I have this overprotective streak. I get antsy in public places _especially_ with her."

"I get it," Steven understands, kissing James' hair. "It's a veteran thing."

James pulls away from Steve far enough to look at him with narrowed eyes and scrunched eyebrows with a crease in between them. "H-how'd you know?"

Seeing no traces of anger or annoyance, Steve places his hand over James' and sighs. "Sam, the head counselor at the VA, told me. He's a good friend of mine," Steve explains, more than cautious of scaring James off with this information.

"Sam_ Wilson_?"

"Yeah."

James repositions himself to face forward, stone still and shocked, but Steve's hand doesn't move from over James'.

"_Shit_," he finally mutters.

"He didn't tell me anything embarrassing or personal if that's what you're worried about."

He's still refusing to look directly at Steve. The second he tries to, his face and neck appear to be on fire.

"So, he told you about Iraq?"

"Yeah." Steve nods.

"Anything _else_?" That tone of voice is two octaves short of a whimper, and it subtly turns Steve on.

"No," he assures and kisses James' cheek this time, resulting in the tense man's resolve. "And you _don't_ have to tell me anything you don't want to. Although, I'd really like if you did."

The brunet coils and blushes even harder.

"Well, not now. Whenever you're comfortable."

"How do you know I'll _ever_ do that?" He asks, loosening up against Steve's words and gentle hand.

"One person can only stay cooped up so long before they explode."

James smirks at that. "Could say the same 'bout _you_, Captain."

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Sam told me a lil' bit about you, too," he sing songs and gives into Steve's touch even further by placing his head on his shoulder. "I'm not gonna be the only one on blast here."

"Sam usually doesn't know what he's talking about half the time. He talks 'cus he thinks his voice sounds like velvet."

"Maybe so, but he cares about you. He's afraid of you being all alone in that apartment for the rest of your life."

"He's dramatic."

"He cares, though," James looks up at Steve, eyelashes blushing along his chin. "I do, too. We only just met but it's very obvious."

"What's obvious?"

"That you don't ever leave that apartment unless if it's to jog or walk Carter or go to VA. I don't think I've ever even seen you go to the store for food or shit, just out with a friend."

"You been watching me?" Steve tries to laugh it off even though he knows Sam and James are right. But they just don't fucking get it. He's safe. He's fine.

"Steve, look," James whispers, nuzzling in closer to Steve, fitting perfectly in the curve of his beck and trap muscle. "I know I sound all preachy and hypocritical and all, but what you said about wanting me to share and tell you stuff? Yeah, I expect the same from _you_."

"Hate to burst your bubble," he clicks his tongue and shakes his head again. "I don't have much to tell you." He figures it's not a total lie.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't," James tells him, inserting his fingers in the empty slots between Steve's. It's a comforting feeling. "I just want us to be able to tell each other stuff," he continues and keeps his stare locked on Mischka. "Mischka's been my best friend for such a long time now, and it'd be nice to share stuff with someone I would with her or maybe even Clint. You get me?"

"I do, but, -" he huffs and scoffs out a humorless laugh to stall his thought process. "James, baby, I don't really have much of a story."

The brunet rolls his eyes. "Whatever, Steve. I just wanna be your friend first and foremost before we can do anything else in this relationship, y'know? I need to know that you, ya know, um, trust me enough to tell me why in the hell you love being in that apartment _so_ much."

If Steve were vicious, he'd ask why he was dancing with someone else at HYDRA last night and why he thinks that left glove is cute. But he doesn't and James' curiosity is nothing to get upset about. He's asking not to be nosy, but he cares just as Sam or Darcy do.

"It's kinda like your song. I'm comfortable there. I like it there. I'm safe there. It's kinda like drawing, too. In fact, I should've brought my sketchbook to draw a little."

James nods in agreement. "_Safe_," he repeats Steve, squeezing his hand around his. "Something happen to you?"

"Afghanistan really fucked me up," he spits out blatantly like it should be obvious to him. He doesn't mean to sound so rude, but it's true. James doesn't notice his tone, so he keeps going.

"You never show signs," he says, wishfully envious. "Lucky you."

Steve flashes back to the attack he's experienced before James' show. "You have _no_ idea."

The bristle of the tree's swaying together in the breeze mixed with barking and children at play are the only sounds for a minute before James pokes his chin delicately with the gloved hand.

"Hey, I didn't mean to get in your business and psychoanalyze you about your apartment. I'm just really desperate in wanting to make up for all the time we could've spent getting to know each other when I had to work," he apologises and cuddles in closer to Steve on the bench, watching his daughter wrestle with Carter.

Steve would rather he didn't mention work or anything close to it ever again. Yeah, he'd cried for nothing, but it mean something now. This man fucking cares, and whatever he did at HYDRA shouldn't mean a damn thing.

"It's fine. I still have a few questions about you, too."

James exhales slowly. "If it's about _work_, then-"

"_No_, actually. It's more along the line of why you grow your hair out so long or why you wear _that_ glove all the time," he says without thinking his words through, and the moment it leaves his mouth, he turn his lips inward like the action will retract his words. Instead of telling Steve to mind his own business, James takes a second and actually grins up at him like a mischievous child that's hiding something.

"Both are very long stories that can be saved away for a rainy day."

Steve'd accept that. It beats James getting angry for his intrusion. "I can't wait to hear 'em."

The two men indulge Carter and Mischka in a half-serious game of football with Carter's rope working as a makeshift pigskin. The teams were divided by _Daddies_ versus _Daughters_, and Steve and James take very much pity on the two for Mischka only runs so fast in flip flops and Carter's a dog who doesn't understand the game at all. The 'game' lasts for ten minutes before the little girl falls out on the grass, tired and forfeiting. Carter agrees by whining and licking the sweat off of her face.

"Someone's thirsty," James notes and hoists his daughter up to balance on his shoulders. "Bet you're hungry, too, huh?"

"I want ice cream, Daddy," she tells him, resting atop his head, panting in tune with Carter who is back on her leash and by Steve's side. Mischka's attention is directed to the ice cream truck parked on the curb of the green, swarmed with kids and patient adults.

"Ice cream ain't a meal, fathead."

Mischka rolls her eyes in a James-like fashion and bats those long lashes hopefully at Steve and narrows her eyes downward harshly at her father's crown. He knows how to take a hint, so he takes James' arm in his free hand and shakes him lightly, fluttering his eyelashes at his friend just as Mischka had to him.

"Oh, c'mon, _Jamsie_," Steve whines and squeezes with little pressure on James' muscle. "_I_ want ice cream, too."

James flashes a disinterested glance upwards at his daughter followed by a sigh of defeat. "Well, two against one, I guess. What kinda ice cream do you want?"

Mischka cheers atop of James when he begins to sluggishly walk towards the busy ice cream truck. The little girl looks at Steve over her shoulder and smiles gratefully while he gives her a sly wink.

* * *

The four of them make languid laps around the park for an hour before Mischka is pulling on James' sleeve and whining about wanting to go home. They walk back to the apartment building just as they did before with James and Steve's hand intertwined and Carter being led by Mischka. Steve doesn't even notice that he'd been smiling so hard till they reach their hallway and his cheekbones were burning from the overexertion of his muscles.

"Come inside," James asks of him, pulling the older man towards him and away from his apartment, his intended destination. "She's probably gonna take a nap, so we can chill," he continues, nods towards a tired Mischka who is already headed towards her own bedroom, and then adds "We can watch _Titanic_," as if to convince Steve. Persuasion isn't needed, but the enticement is appreciated.

"Promise? No funny business?" Steve knows it's pointless to ask such a thing when he knows James won't behave for anything; James' smirk indicates he must know that Steve knows that fact better than anything, but he nods anyway and pulls Steve in even further to him till they're both inside his apartment.

He stays true to his word of keeping his hands to himself up until Jack and Rose make love for the first time in the storage deck of the ship. The sweaty hand smearing against the fogged window fades to the two shuddering in pure ecstasy, tangled against each other and James hisses at the sight, instantly turned on. Of course, Steve ignores him as best as he can till James hits a severe tickle spot in his neck with his wandering teeth that causes Steve to jump out of his blushing hot skin and yelp in an odd mixture of discomfort and arousal. That specific spot has always been Steve's pressure point when it came to sex, and all he has power to do is giggle in between dazed moans and loud gasps that seem to echo in the quiet living room. Not before long, he's leaning back with arms spread out on the back of the sofa and surrendering himself to James' relentless kisses that travel from his neck and back up to his lips.

That electric feeling is just as strong as it's ever been coursing effortlessly through Steve's lips, his neck, his chest, and to his crotch. Unless he's numb, James has to feel it, too. It's not something they can deny; Steve had never felt this with any other man before. He feels like he's been swept right the hell off of his feet, and James isn't making this any easier for him to breath especially when he's straddled his long legs on either side of Steve's hips and ravishing feverishly upon every exposed cell of skin on Steve. The kisses, bites, and licks don't stop, and Steve is in fucking heaven. Nothing goes untouched on James' watch.

_God,_ he wants him so _badly _that it's beginning to make his muscles ache. He'd been so deprived of this level of physical contact for such a long time that every moment that James is connected to him, he feels the emotions of every wasted, lonely night in that bed of his fade away in a fiery explosion of sparkles and stars 'cus that's all that's in front of him, no matter how he struggles to see past them. His throat is dry from being so nervous, but he still manages to exhale a chorus of broken moans when James unintentionally bucks his hips quickly. The men don't even have to glance at their pants to see that both are hard as rocks with erections that resist every piece of thread they're being confined by. Their confined dicks brush again, and Steve would've thought James had come already from the broken and inconsistent gasps he lets out at the unexpected friction.

"Auh_, fuck,_" he lets slip from between his already open panting mouth the second James has his teeth clenched willingly on Steve's spot and rocking with little thrusts over his cock as he stimulates his own. "You said you'd watch the movie," Steve stupidly reminds him, allowing his fingers to roam along James' sides to keep him balanced over top of him.

"_This_ might be better," he disagrees and the fingers on his right hand slide over Steve's face as if to commit the feel of his skin to memory while the left hand stays a stray on his side and nowhere near Steve. "_Shit_," he mutters shakily like he'd been caught off guard with evident signs of worry printed in an unreadable expression of a hanging mouth, blown pupils within glowing, wide eyes and creased brows. His face is the epitome of unprepared and cautious even when he begins to pick up the pace of his hips against Steve. His eyes don't tear from Steve - not for a _fucking second_ \- like if he even thought about looking away, he'd lose all his direction and drive and quit on the spot. Unsure, Steve places tentative hands on either side of James' rocking hips to keep him steady and controlled, rather than sporadic and unorganized. This action gets them back to a steady pace only to pick up within seconds.

"Oh, _God,_" James mumbles, right hand still wrapped around Steve's neck to keep him upright and searching for answer or a reason as to why he's doing this. "_Dammit_," he bites out, sounding frustrated as all hell but showing no signs of such a feeling in his emotions.

"Steve," he calls out in aborted breaths. "_Steve_," he repeats, lips in a hard line like he was trying to keep quiet. Steve follows his lead and muffles his own moans to avoid alarming Mischka.

James already looks so spent. He whimpers, hanging his head as though he were ashamed at his behavior but unable to stop himself. His face tightens as does his grip on the side of Steve's neck.

"Motherfucker," he gasps, making his hips go harder against Steve's cock. "Steve. _Stevie...Steve..._" He repeats, each time more slurred than the last, and that's when he takes notice of James' tells: the whimpering, the tightening of his hand, the quivering lower lip, the sharper thrusts...

"You gonna come, huh?" Steve asks, lips puckered to catch James' when he lifts his head.

Unable to get the words out successfully, James just nods, distressed and staring at Steve like he's the brightest ray of sunshine that ever warmed the Earth. He's so caught up in the essence that is Steve that for a moment, he thinks he might come, but victoriously holds it off to savor the feel of the bucking bronco of a man under him. It doesn't need to be said that James is unsure and judging by the glazed over gleam in his eyes, hesitant want to himself go for Steve, and shaking limbs, he's not prepared for this orgasm that he had no intention of rising one out of himself this afternoon. He feels ashamed as he meets Steve's baby blues and absorbs his innocence.

"_I'm sorry,_" he whines, pained by something unknown. Steve shakes his head because he's not sure what he'd have to apologize for in this particular situation but whatever it is, it doesn't matter right now.

"Just come," he encourages, panting harder and only then reminded he's almost out of breath.

"Stevie..._sir...Steve_, -"

"James, baby -"

He wants to scream out at the sensation of receiving permission to come, and he's six seconds from doing so until a shrill little girl's voice rings out in the apartment, startling and knocking both men from their hazy states.

"_Fuck!_" James shouts, voice muffling into the cushion behind Steve's head. Steve can sympathize because whatever build up, he'd grinded so hard to achieve had just fizzled out and died along with whatever James had too. He puts a hand through his floppy bangs to brush them off his face. The sweat keeps it slick back. He'd show his aggravation as well, but he doesn't wanna be rude.

"_Goddamnit_," James mutters and rolls off of Steve and reluctantly settles back into the seat he'd been in before. "We're in here, sweetheart!" He calls and before Mischka skips into the room, he flashes Steve an apologetic glare and places a blanket he pulls from the back of the couch to put over his crotch and Steve's given they're both still half-hard.

"There y'all are!" she cheers and plops between them, facing the TV. "I was looking for you guys!"

"Found us," Steve tries to sound animated but it falls flat and sarcastic.

"What're you guys watching?"

"_Titanic._ It's some movie Stevie likes," James answers quickly, uncomfortably figuring out where to put his arms.

"What's it about?"

"This big ass boat that sinks. Based on true events."

"Oh, wow," she sounds marveled. "Did a lot of people die?"

"Yeah, honey, they did," James answers sadly and brushes fingers over her thick ponytail.

"That's sad."

"It happens," Steve says and checks his lap go assure he's not showing. Relieved, he exhales and shoots a glance at James who had been watching him. The bridge of his nose is pink and his freckles seem to be more prominent than ever. He gives him another apologetic look, but Steve just winks.

With his daughter between them, James has no choice but to watch and finish the movie. He's not as engrossed as Mischka, but they make similar noises in response to to the events happening on screen.

"Oh, no," James groans suddenly. "No, no, no,_ no._"

Steve and Mischka both look over at him, and Steve is relieved to discover he's rearing up at Jack's freezing to death rather than telling him he has work in ten minutes.

"Does he die, Steve?" Mischka asks cautiously even after watching Jack's body sink away from Rose's.

"This is bullshit," James utters behind shaking hands that attempt to wipe tears from his watering eyes.

"Well, Mischka, there's a theory that Jack really survived the sinking and swam all the way to New York and inherited the millions that his parents left for him. And because he was reported dead, he felt it necessary to change his name to protect himself and then he became Jay Gatsby."

"Jay Gatsby dies, too, Steve," James adds and sniffles. Mischka turns back to Steve who just blinks at James' unnecessary commentary.

"Just watch the movie," he tells them both and all three are silent for the remainder of the film till the credits roll and James hums along to the love theme.

"You know this _song,_ but haven't seen the _movie_?" Steve asks, astonished. James shrugs.

"I didn't know it was from_ this_ movie," he explains and stretches his limbs out when he stands, distorting his face cutely. "Natasha liked Celine Dion."

"A woman of good taste."

"You're so gay," James chuckles and tugs on Mishcka's ponytail. "Hungry yet?"

"Can we get pizza?"

"Depends. Steve, you wanna stay for pizza?"

"Sounds fun."

"You must really not get out much if you think pizza is fun," James deadpans and kisses Steve on his forehead. He waits till his daughter is out of earshot before lowering his voice to a gruff whisper for Steve's ears only. "Hey, I'm sorry again about what happened before. I really thought she'd sleep till dinner so -"

"It's fine," Steve says honesty and returns the kiss with one to his lips. "It was kind of a fun rush."

"Ain't shit fun about blue balls. So, you're _not_ mad?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad?"

A grimace turns into a sly grin across James' pouty lips. "'Cus I don't know bout _you_, but it felt pretty damn _good._ Even if it was a teenage move."

"It's a good pace for us," Steve stands and stretches as well then lets his arms fall over James' shoulders. "We don't have to move _so fast_."

"Why deprive ourselves if we already like each other?" James hums into Steve's neck. He sounds like he'd had a conversation with Darcy.

"'Cus one day, your looks will fade, baby," Steve says.

"All the more reason to start _now_," he murmurs, running his slick, wet tongue over Steve's jugular. "I watched the damn movie, so now I'm eligible to sleep with you, huh?"

"Is that all you want?_ To sleep with me_?" Steve means to sound teasing but it comes out worrisome. James drops the joking tone and kisses Steve's pink and swollen lips gently this time.

"No, 'cus if _that_ were the case, I would've done it already," James' cocky veneer should annoy Steve, but he's instead shocked by that answer.

"Oh, you _think_ so?"

"I _know_ so."

"How so?"

"I'd've taken sweet advantage of being alone with your fine ass on our first date over coffee. Instead, I thought to myself _'fuck he's cute in a cook dinner for and fuck afterward kinda way_.' I don't know, Stevie. Something 'bout ya wanted me to get to know your ass better."

"I play hard to get," he replies coolly, pretending that everything James had just told him was the sweetest yet crude anybody's ever told him. He squeezes his arms around him.

"Sure you do, babe. I'll let you think that if it makes you happy," he rubs Steve's cheek soothingly before tapping it lightly in a playful smack. "Now c'mon. The she devil wants pizza."

Steve learns that Mischka's favorite film is _Mary Poppins_, a film way before her time, but the three of them sit through it, taking three slices of pizza each. Eventually the little girl was full and gave Steve and James the rest of her shares. Not before long, it's eight at night and Mischka blissfully retires herself to her bedroom, calling it a night. She kisses James on the cheek and hugs Steve before leaving the room.

There's a silence in the room caused on more by the two men than the turned off television. Steve doesn't want their night to end just yet, but James had to be tired, right? Steve had wore his welcome his out; For fear of being kicked out, Steve claps his hands purposely loud against his thighs and bounces up off his end of the couch.

"So," he huffs and lifts himself up. "Guess I'll just be -"

"You're leaving?" James asks, panicked and wide eyed.

"Yeah, I figured you'd wanna go to bed early in case you have work tomorrow -"

"_No_!" James exclaims, popping up with Steve and standing in front of the bigger man as if to block him from moving. "I'm free all weekend."

"Really?" He asks, unconvinced. "Every time you're 'free', you bail on me."

James groans. "I know, I know. I'm trash, but _please stay_ for a while. Just a little while. We could talk more like earlier, right?"

He doesn't need much convincing. "Okay," he sighs and sits back down only to have his space infiltrated by an affectionate James who takes refuge in Steve's lap and the arm rest. He'd comment on it, but he's much too comfortable for him to move. So he keeps quiet and contently lays there with James. Steve hadn't realized he'd lapsed into a nap until he woke up a sweaty, tangled mess with James staring up at him adoringly. His eyelashes are tickling his chin again.

"Hey," he breathes and strokes the man's sides.

"Hi."

"I fell asleep?"

"Yeah. You've been out for like an hour."

"Oh, man," he mumbles into his hand as he covers his yawn. "Sorry. Didn't mean to pass out on you."

"I get it. Old men tend to need frequent naps throughout the day."

Steve actually finds that one funny. "Not _that much_ older than you, kid."

"Five years is a milestone. You were just learning how to spell your name when I was being born. Fucking pedophile."

"Shut the hell up," Steve chuckles and flicks James' nose. "Did you sleep?"

"A little. If the old man wants to, he can stay a little longer," he proposes thoughtfully with those moon wide eyes. "We didn't really get to talk."

"Okay, lay it on me," Steve says through another yawn and slumps against James. "What do you wanna talk about?"

James thinks. "How do you know Sam Wilson?"

"Are you still worried about -"

"No," he insists. "No, I just really wanna know."

Steve exhales and brings him closer to his chest to completely envelope James. The other man allows it and puts a leg over top of Steve's.

"Went to high school and college together. Known him a long time, like, damn near almost sixteen years."

"Can't hardly remember knowing anyone that long. 'Cept Clint. And Natasha. Met those two in high school. They were dating, but, ugh, that didn't last long."

Steve grins. "Can you imagine how it feels to lose your girlfriend to _a gay guy_?"

"It wasn't like that," James quips and smirks up at him. "They fell off, but remained good friends. Nat was really broken up about it, so I comforted her and one thing led to another, and...yeah."

"Still, though. Damn. What made Natasha the exception?"

James shrugs stiffly. "She was just different. Being attracted to her instead of another girl was different. It was new. She was the first and only girl I was ever with."

"It didn't make you reconsider your sexuality?"

He shakes his head. "Not really. I considered myself Natasha-sexual because she was the only female I was ever attracted to...ever."

"I can see why."

"Yeah, she was gorgeous."

"The kid looks like her."

"Yeah, she does. Real shame she doesn't get to see her today."

"Do you mind me asking what happened to her?" Steve says gently but James is more than comfortable in telling him especially when they're so intimate in the tiny couch.

"Car accident. She was upset about something, and she wanted to take a drive."

"Damn."

"Yeah, it sucks," he frowns. That's an understatement. "I miss her a lot sometimes."

"How long were you guys together?"

"Dated for four years through my senior year to me coming home from Iraq, but unfortunately we were only six months deep in our marriage before she passed."

"Aw, I'm sorry to hear that," Steve says sincerely, feeling bad for asking.

He shrugs again. "I don't mind talking about her. Did all my crying years ago. She's been gone for six years. She would slap the shit out of me for pitying myself."

Steve holds him tighter. "Good for you."

"What about you? Any exes I should know about before falling in love with you?"

"None that'd be a threat to you."

"No vengeful ex- girlfriend who'll key my car?"

"No, no. None of that. I'm moderately friendly with all my exes. Don't talk to most of them, but we're cordial."

"Can't imagine you having exes, Steve."

"Why?"

"You're too good of a person. Surprised someone didn't already have you when I met you. I definitely would've either designated myself your side piece or fought the bitch you were with," James tells him trivially, making Steve laugh aloud, and continues, "There's gotta be something fucking wrong with you! You_ can't _be_ this_ perfect. You're a serial killer, aren't you?"

"Not today," Steve jokes and rubs his cheek along James' hair. "And I'm not perfect, contrary to popular belief."

"They didn't make you Captain America for nothing."

"Ugh," Steve grunts. "_Hate_ that freakin' nickname. I'm Steve Rogers, all day and everyday, okay? Captain Rogers, if it suits you."

"I still think you're perfect."

"Barely even know me."

"I know I just dry humped _the fuck_ out of your dick, and that seems _perfect_ enough for me."

Steve wishes he found that funny. But he sighs instead and kisses James' head.

"I don't have to know every little detail about your ass to know it's perfect. Trust me, Steve, I'm a great judge of characters. You're flawless."

He knows he doesn't deserve all this glorification and praise from James when he can't even be honest with the man about his exes or why he's truly so comfortable in his apartment. If he thinks so highly of him now, he should cut James off to reduce every risk of Steve disappointing him later on.

"If I'm being too much for you, just tell me, baby," James demands of him in that innocent voice of his, turning Steve on like a light switch and causing him to rub against the other man without realizing it.

"I like you, and you're really turning out to be the best thing to happen to me since moving back to Brooklyn. We're so new, but I just wanna grab onto the chance to say things to you that I didn't get to in my last relationship because I was too stupid and bigheaded and thought I was too cool to tell someone how much they meant to me. Okay?"

Steve gulps. "Okay," he croaks out, practically forcing a merger of James' body to his.

"Did I make you uncomfortable? Fine, you're a piece of shit just like the rest of us. Feel better?"

The blond's sides feels as though they're burning as much as they ache from laughing so hard. He wipes a tear from his eye, pauses, and continues to laugh into James' hair.

They turn the TV back on as their primary background noise for when they begin to fervently but casually make out again. It's not a rushed task with their lips overlapping and massaging the others reverently and tiredly. As swollen and sore his lips and jaw are, Steve can't find it within himself to take a break. The moment he'd even think about moving away, James hands would be on his hips or face, pulling him back in,never opening his eyes or breaking their contact. Making out must've advanced since Steve had last done it, because James does tricks with his tongue that send chills all along Steve's spine and arms. He elicits a moan or two every few licks, but keeps their pace innocent.

"Whaddyou doing tomorrow night?" James asks, index finger flicking the fastest part of Steve's plump bottom lip.

"What's tomorrow - Friday? Nothing. Got a date idea?"

James pinches Steve lips then pecks them.

"I'm in need of help for this song I've been working on. Gabe, my friend who owns 107th, wants a new song for a our next set - which you're invited to, by the way," he explains and pecks the rosy lips before his.

"Yeah?"

"M-hm. You're an artist. I'm an artist. We can make an artsy date out of it. You draw while I finish this song. Does that sound boring?"

"I'm down," Steve agrees and his fingers are practically prickling at the image he already conjures from James at his guitar or piano.

"Yeah?"

Steve kisses him quick twice. "Yeah."

"Great," James whispers. "_Great_."

James' lips don't stop even after Steve drifts to sleep for a second time. He feels the faint sounds of suction from James lips against his tingling skin right before he falls over the edge into a dreaming state. When he awakes twenty minutes later, James is singing lightly under his breath what sounds like a lullaby. Steve knows he should get up to take Carter on her nightly walk, but he's far too comfortable to disturb James or himself. Instead, he drifts back to sleep, fully aware that his heart had forgiven James far before he was ready to.

* * *

That next morning at roughly ten o' clock, Steve finds himself back in James' living room, outlining a panel his boss had assigned him the afternoon prior. He'd been humming softly to himself with the accompaniment of James' delicate piano playing. A few keys were overused and the melody was repeated for a solid fifteen minutes before James groans frustratedly, slams both hands on the keys and makes an abrupt and alarming mistune emit from the piano. Steve eyes only pop up but his hand doesn't stop because this is the fifth time he's done this in the past half hour.

"_Ugh_!" He exclaims. "I quit." James reaches for his mug of coffee atop of the piano and slurps loudly.

"No, you don't."

"No, I _do_! I really do. Fuck this song, and fuck Gabe. There's nothing wrong with the set we already have."

"No, there isn't, but every artist needs new material."

"This would be so much easier if I didn't have a deadline. Usually, I can pop out song after song in one afternoon, but this is so much harder," James tells him, face in his hands, elbows pressing on keys and aggravating the piano.

Steve puts his paper and pencil down on the coffee table before rolling off the couch and coming up behind James at the piano. He wraps his arms around his neck and kisses his crown.

"Play what you have for me," Steve demands and takes a seat on the bench. Without a word, James arranges his sheet music on the stand for Steve's view and breathes heavily before pressing his flesh hand and his glove against the white and black keys. His voice starts off broken, but as he uses it more, it returns to its usual symphonic vitality.

_"I take the worst of what you got...It hurts more than sticks and rocks...You know I'll be there...You know I'll be there..."_

James takes another breath, and pauses for another few beats, side glancing Steve to assures he's actually listening.

"Is _that_ all of it?" Steve asks, hoping he doesn't sound judgmental at what James has come up with so far.

The brunet shakes his head. "There's a bit more," he says and removes his hands from the keys. "It's just, _um,_ -" he starts and fails his sentence halfway. A crestfallen look forms in his drooping eyes and shaking frown. His jaw is clenching tightly while his hands shake.

Steve suspects James is nervous to let an outsider hear one of his pieces in such an intimate matter. Music is such an expressive craft and in James' case, it's the most passionate thing he has. It takes emotions, and the last time he probably played for someone in this way was probably Natasha. Anybody would be anxious. Maybe this brought back bad memories for him? Maybe the song was too much for James to perform for Steve of all people.

"You don't have to keep going if you don't think-"

"_No_," James interrupts and finally looks up from the keys at Steve. "No, I want to. It's been a while since I've wrote with a purpose, and everything I wanna put on paper is far too overwhelming for me right now."

"Like what?"

James just shakes his head like it's a yes or no question. "I'm gonna try again."

Those long fingers of his place themselves over. the appropriate keys before he takes a much needed breath again, shuts those panicked, grey eyes of his and begins to song again.

"_I take the worst of what you got...It hurts more than sticks and rocks...You know I'll be there...You know I'll be there..."_

Steve thinks he might stop again, and for good this time, but the notes keep filling up the tiny apace of the apartment.

_"And I would be a punching bag...Throw it all and don't hold back...Still I'll be there...You know I'll be there...__Cause I still just live in fear, it is my home...But there are harder things to be than all alone...You're the broken part of me that makes me hold...But so unsure..."_

His eyes spring open and space out, surprised, at his sheet music. Steve thinks there's something wrong until James hastily grabs his pencil from behind his ear and scribbles words on the sheet music.

"That's all I've got so far," James finally states, seeming no more satisfied than he had been before.

"That's a whole verse," Steve points out encouragingly and rubs his hands along the small of James' back. "It's nice. What's it about?"

"Giving myself up to someone," he replies, shuffling on the bench uncomfortably. "In the name of love," he adds on as an afterthought. A faint smile crosses over his stunning lips, and little by little, his pouting frown disappears. Steve would like to think he had something to do with putting it there.

"I can relate," he agrees.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Surprisingly enough."

James snickers, obviously not believing him one bit. "What'd you ever give up for love, Stevie? Hm?"

"I critiqued a lot of my morals for her sake 'cus I thought it's what she wanted. Didn't really work out for either of us though, but now she's with someone who is better suited for her, I suppose," he tells him, shrugging like it was the most painful time in his life, Afghanistan included.

It didn't matter _how hard_ he fought to gain sanity from what that relationship had done to him and his emotions. It took months for him to get back to his regular golden self and fall back into that routine he's more than molded himself into. He swears he'd probably be at home staring at a wall and pondering why the relationship went wrong or how he could've if salvaged it before it got where it did if it weren't for James. Steve still blames himself for _everything,_ but he doesn't let it keep him up at night.

_Most_ nights, anyway.

_You're okay, Rogers. She can't hurt you. You're here with James._

He calms himself by unclenching his facial muscles then breathes evenly enough to the point where his tears dry up before they can escape and fall onto James' shirt.

There's nothing to be hurt about anymore; She had her man, and Steve thinks he's on his way to finding his. Even if their relationship wasn't official (yet), Steve would put any amount of money on James betting that he'd be happier with him than anybody he had been before. He already has, really. There just sitting here on this piano bench, and Steve has never felt more content.

"Wow," James is saying, pressing lips to Steve's head, but not kissing him just yet. "She fucked up letting you go."

He'd agree if he found James' words to be of any value. He's saying that to be nice, if anything. Steve exhales, feeling tears again.

"Well, then again," James sighs, "If she hadn't, _I_ would've never gotten you. So, if she's one of those exes that you're cordial with, thank her for me."

Steve can tell he means his words, even if Steve doesn't believe them. Flustered, he reaches upward and searches for James' lips. They meet after a moment, and Steve whimpers within the kiss. He doesn't know how heavy he'd made the atmosphere with talking about his past girl, but James obviously picks up on it, and sees that Steve had been hurt, and because he cares so lovingly for this perfect fucking man, he forgets all about the task at hand and rises from the bench with Steve's hands in his.

If Clint hadn't been treating Mischka for the day, James probably wouldn't have taken Steve to his bedroom to kiss him all over and massage his body down with olive oil on his bed. He doesn't dare remove his glove, not even to let himself relish in the glory of his hand to Steve's soft skin without that leather barrier. His grey eyes wander and make mental notes and photographs of every naked inch of Steve's torso glistening with oil. As hard as he is within his jeans, he doesn't dare take that risky plunge by letting his roaming fingers tug Steve's godforsaken sweatpants downward to get a fair look of that ass of his. It's plump like his lips and pert like his nose, and all James wants to do is grind himself shamelessly against it, letting his struggling cock slide between the cheek with the slick oil as lubrication. He whimpers under his breath, and pushes downward on Steve's taut, huge muscles.

James hesitantly pushes himself against Steve's hips to better align himself atop of him. "Stevie?"

"Hmm?" he responds, muffled within the pillow.

"Is this okay?" He asks, pulling his right hand away from Steve and to his own chest in fear.

"_Please_ don't stop."

He puts his hand back. "Okay," he whispers and rubs slowly, spreading the oil farther along the canvas of his back. Jesus, he's _beautiful._

This is so _new._

This is so _odd._

This is _right_ though, right?

"Ugh, _God_," Steve groans out euphorically when James' thumb presses harder than before into his latissimus dorsi muscle and upwards to his shoulder blade. "_James._"

James makes him feel so good, physically and mentally. His headspace is clearer than it's been in a long time in a way that Sam or Darcy can't take credit for.

Even though they hadn't known each other before, Steve likes to believe that James would've been by his side every night that his ex wasn't, rocking him to sleep like a toddler out of nightmare instead of brushing him off and laughing at him for being a grown man and crying in his sleep. He most likely would've sang him a lullaby every night and rubbed his body down just the way he is now to assure that Steve is aware that he's his. He would've waited till Steve fell asleep first to make sure he was safe.

Maybe he would've made love to Steve just the way Steve likes. Steve likes to give roughly, but prefers to be taken slowly when the script is flipped. He out every ounce of love and admiration in _every fucking thrust_ during ever love making session with her, and _she still didn't want him..._

James probably would've given Steve the world. He just knows - _he fucking knows_ \- by how careful and purposeful he's handling him now just by massaging his aching back.

He's so _soft._ James is _gentle._ James _cares._ James doesn't wanna hurt him.

For fuck's sake, he can feel James' yearning erection pressed delicately against his ass, and because James doesn't act on it or initiate any type of sexual act, he knows he's _patient._ He's just what the fuck Steve needs.

It's been so fucking long since someone had appreciated him the way James is right now. It's _so simple_ to give someone a massage, but for some reason, it went beyond that. James had listened to him. James_ fucking cares._

Unexplainably why, Steve feels that burn in his face again. As if on instinct, he struggles to mask his tears and buries his face in his arms. Maybe James won't notice.

It's plainly obvious by how Steve is trembling under James, vibrating them both. He fully expects James to get upset with him for ruining such an intimate time for them with getting overemotional, but he doesn't.

To Steve's surprise, he feels feather light pecks along his shoulder blades and neck, each kiss leaving a buzzed out feeling in its wake. Soon, his torso goes numb, and he only cries harder. James' kisses don't stop. "It's okay, baby," he's saying. "_I've got you_. James has got you."

Steve faces keeps burning.

"It's alright. Let it out. I know. _I know_."

But, James has _no clue_.

The only person who even knew half the true story was Sam. Even then, Steve couldn't bare himself and cry about it to even his best friend.

"Just let it out, baby. I'm staying right here..."

Steve doesn't know how long he'd cried for. All he knows is that he fell asleep and when he awoke, James was making beside him, the room was dark, and the clock read a little after eight.

It's the time to walk Carter again, but being next to James doesn't let him.


	7. 7

It's now the second week of September. The air is crisp and smells of fall, the leaves are turning colors and scattered all over Brooklyn, and an excited six year old is dolled up in her favorite red summer dress, white low top Converse - courtesy of Clint - a pink, sparkly backpack, and a signature bun with a ribbon in her hair on her way to her first day of second grade.

Mischka had kept James up all night about the first day at a new school, telling him how nervous she was she wouldn't make friends, or if her teachers wouldn't like her. James got a total of two hours sleep and the result is bags under his eyes, a particularly messy bun, and leaving the house in a unflattering pair of sweatpants.

Steve still thinks he looks good, and that's why he takes pride in walking hand in glove with James and Mischka to school.

She's skipping in front of them, babbling incoherently about how she'll have the best day ever and how dance rehearsals would be the best, and Steve swears he's listening, but he can't take his attention from James. He doesn't think he noticed till the brunet glances over at him quickly then in front of him.

"I got something stuck in my teeth? Why're you staring at me?" He bites out innocently, turning red against the warm, yellow glow of the rising sun before them. Steve doesn't fight his smile.

It'd been two weeks Steve had cried on James' bed about his past relationship. The night itself had been fuzzy to begin with, but he distinctly remembers pouring his heart out to James and wanting to make love to the man afterwards. He wanted to so badly, but he held his ground and they just embraced each other, not saying anything, barely even breathing really. Steve does remember James promising to stay with him, and that'd made him cry even more. Since then, Steve finds himself at James' apartment every night James didn't work for dinner, a massage, and a cuddle session. He wants to spend the night just once, but he didn't wanna put James out and overstay his welcome. They hadn't done anything sexual either; kissing's the farthest they go in that sense and there's this unspoken thing between them that establishes holding off sex for now. Steve's not sure why, and James isn't either, but they're doing it.

Steve doesn't mind it. He just masturbates a lot more than he did in the beginning of their relationship.

"Nah, you just look nice in this lighting," Steve answers, gesturing towards the sun with his unoccupied hand. "Trust me. I'm an artist. I know what I'm talking about."

"Half the time," James quips then bumps Steve's shoulder with his own. "But, thank you. God bless you for thinking this is cute," he groans and runs his hand down his torso to smooth out creases in his wrinkled sweater.

"I think you're cute regardless."

James scoffs. "Quit trying to butter me up, Rogers."

"I'm not."

James frowns, disbelieving. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he rolls his eyes and looks back to Mischka. "She seems excited, eh?"

"I remember my first day of second grade," Steve recalls, smile broadening. "My dad dropped me off and I cried and cried and cried because I wanted to go back home and spend the rest of the day with my mother."

James laughs a little. "Seems like something you do when going into kindergarten, not second grade."

"Well, Ma and I were close. Spent that whole summer at her side of the family's farm, and I never wanted to leave," Steve nods to himself and sighs. "Great memories."

"I don't remember ever crying on my first day of school. Maybe _high_ school, but not elementary school."

"Why high school?"

James shrugs and shields his eyes from the sun getting in his eyes. "I don't know, actually. Guess the thought of growing up scared me. Surely, when I got there and met the guys in the band, I wasn't so sensitive," he tells Steve, nudging his shoulder again. "You should meet them."

_Sounds like a nice idea_. "Ya think they'd like me?"

"You're the first person I've dated in quite a while that actually_ stayed around,_ so yeah."

Steve wiggles his eyebrows at that, clearly confused. "Stayed around?"

James nods his head towards Mischka in front of them awaiting for the pedestrian crossing sign to flash on the traffic lights. Steve follows his lead and looks, still confused.

"Um?"

"You'd be surprised how many guys don't wanna deal with a widower army vet with PTSD who works nights and has a six year old daughter," James explains and puts his hands over Mischka's shoulders when they reach her. "You seem to the only one who actually seems intrigued by how much baggage I have."

His frown is a thin line of chapped lips, but that doesn't deter Steve from lifting his chin up with an index finger and kissing the grimace right off his face.

"First off, we _all_ have baggage," he says when they pull apart to cross the street. He lowers his voice to a whisper even though Mischka's already a good few feet away and then adds, "_She's_ not baggage, by the way."

"Yeah, a lot of guys don't see it that way," he smiles wearily. "But thanks."

"No problem. Fuck those guys, anyway. They're missing out on a pretty great person," Steve nudges his shoulder this time and kisses his cheek.

"God, you're such a sap. We need to put your ass on a greeting card. They'd sell like fucking hotcakes."

It takes another five minutes to reach the elementary school. Outside are shaken parents and guardians biding their young ones adieu before taking on their first day of school. Majority of the children were a lot calmer than their parents, and there were a few criers. Mischka herself has tears flooding in her eyes but quickly wipes them away when James leaves her with Steve to have a discussion with her new teacher. Steve watches the mayhem of crying and excitement, baffled at how long ago he'd been in school and takes a glance down at Mischka.

Her face is wet from lone shed tears, and he's on his knees meeting her at eye level in an instant.

"Nervous?" He asks and she shakes her head quickly, latching onto Steve's extended hand for support. "Well, what's wrong, honey?"

She sniffles, fills in the space between them to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze. The tears coming from her eyes trickle like fragile rain drops onto his thin T-shirt. Her crying is silent and inconspicuous unlike everybody else's.

"I don't wanna leave my Daddy," she cries and squeezes him harder like if she let go, he'd disappear. He returns the gesture to assure her.

"You're not leaving him, and he's not leaving you. Why do you say that?"

She pauses and pulls away from Steve, staring at her new shoes when he tries to meet their eyes.

"I just don't want him to leave."

Traces of James are highly evident in Mischka. It's almost frightening how much she resembles him, yet still maintains to be Natasha's mini me. That pout, those wide, frightened eyes, that hint of worry in their stare - he'd seen it all in James, and it breaks Steve's heart in the best and worst way. It's not fair to feel so passionately about someone else's kid. Times like this he wish he'd had his own.

"He's not going anywhere, Mischka," Steve says, holding her tiny hands in his. "I swear he's not."

"You promise?"

"Promise. Is _that_ why you were crying?"

She nods once. "And plus, I don't wanna be in a new school. I miss my other friends in my old school."

"Where'd you used to go to school?"

"Russia," she answers, shocking Steve. "I have friends there. I don't want the kids here to make fun of me."

"Is this coming from the same little sass master that I met last month?"

She blushes. "But I know you. And I like you."

"First off," he laughs and hugs her close. "These kids won't mess with you, alright? And you know why? 'Cus you're not gonna let them. You're gonna be friendly and polite and sweet just like you usually are, and if someone tries to get at you, what are you gonna do?"

"Um...?"

"You're gonna tell the teacher," Steve says for her and rubs along her arms comfortingly when she eyes him oddly.

"I don't wanna be a snitch."

"Would you rather be picked on?"

She droops back to her shoes. "No," she mumbles and twirls her toe. Clearly she didn't like that option so he offers a new one.

"If you don't wanna tell the teacher, then tell me. Tell your Daddy. Tell Uncle Clint."

She sniffles. "W-why?"

"So we can tell your teacher. It's not snitching if we do it. We're just looking out for you, right?"

"M-hm," she mumbles and closes in on him again to be fully encased within Steve's embrace. He rocks her slowly, praying she feels a least a little bit more optimistic about today.

"Are you?" she suddenly says.

"Am I what?"

"Gonna leave me? Are you gonna be there when I come home?"

A half smile curves his lips. "I couldn't leave my best girl."

Her smile seems so misplaced with the rush of tears coming from her eyes that his huge thumbs gingerly wipe them away.

"I'm your best girl?"

"Of course."

"I thought Carter was your best girl."

Oh, well that's true. "Well, Mischka, you're my _bestest_ girl."

Her face softens under Steve's careful fingers ridding her face of unnecessary tears. "Thank you," she says and hugs him again.

"No problem, kid. All better?"

"Yes, Stevie," she sings and brushes out her dress and puts flyaway hairs behind her ears. "How do I look?"

"Like Brooklyn's finest," he tells her and kisses her forehead before rising to his feet. "Now, go on! Go with James," he directs her along so that she's skipping in the direction of her dad and her new teacher. The little girl hides behind James' leg, but still manages to look back at Steve and wave.

He waves back and his thoughts are interrupted by an endearing voice.

"_Wow,_" the woman says beside him, looking at Mischka and James, then at him. "Sorry for eavesdropping, but_ that was great_. Wish my husband knew how to calm down our eight year old like that."

Steve is instantly red and looks at the middle aged mom admiring him. "Um, thanks," he mutters and puts his hands deep in his pockets to avoid her seeing him twitch.

"No, really!" She continues. "You're a great father."

He doesn't even fight the bark of laughter that erupts from him even though it's not that funny. She narrows her eyes at him, and he just laughs again.

"You're mistaken. She's _not_ my daughter. I'm more of an uncle, if anything," he explains and rolls his eyes lovingly towards James and the little girl.

The woman scoffs. "Would've never guessed."

"Thank you, though. She's a great kid."

The woman nods, agreeing. "The first day is the always the hardest. She'll make friends I promise."

Steve sure hoped so. The last thing he or James wants is for her to come home in tears about not making any friends and being excluded from her classmates. The woman wishes Steve luck before tending her own sniffing child, and he keeps her words of him being a good father in mind all the way back to James' apartment.

* * *

"Thai."

"Had Thai yesterday."

"Pizza?"

"Had pizza Monday."

"Chinese, then?"

"We already had Chinese this week, baby," Steve reminds him. "Face it. We've been to every country this week. Looks like we're gonna have to be adults, and, ya know, _cook for ourselves_!" He gasps, clutching his chest in mock horror while James rolls his eyes, growls, and tosses the Chinese take out menu back into the assorted pile on the coffee table.

"_Yuck_," he pouts. "So much easier to pay someone to cook it for you."

"Quit being a baby."

"I'm not a baby," he protests and bounces off the couch to grab his acoustic guitar off its stand to begin playing light, miscellaneous notes. "Speaking of babies, how d'ya think the she beast is doing?"

"She's okay," Steve assures and sits up on the sofa to turn and face James who looks more than worried no matter how many time Steve had comforted him on their way home. That's the sixth time James has asked about his daughter in the three hours they'd been home.

"You swear?"

"You two are literally lost without each other," Steve teases and gets off the couch to lean against it. "I'm not an adorable six year old girl, but I hope I can entertain you till yours gets home," he whispers suggestively and stalks towards James with slow movements.

The other man's bushy eyebrows quirk upward in wonder. "Yeah?"

"M-hm," Steve hums, smirking and using his index to strum aimlessly. "I could give you a massage this time," he suggests and James puts his guitar down. "You'd like that, yeah?"

The other mans doesn't get to answer before Steve's huge hands are pulling him by the belt loops of his jeans towards the sofa where they tumble over each other and land on the carpet in a fit of giggles. The frivolous laughter stops the moment Steve's lips muffle over James' and they kiss patiently at first till the shivering gesture of a leather glove caresses over Steve's ass and then squeezes.

Steve jerks up from James in feigned alarm, and the brunet wide eyes him like he's scared he'd done something wrong before seeing Steve's smirk and smirking himself.

"What kinda guy do you take me for, Barnes?" Steve huffs and stays mounted on all fours right over James. "Gonna take a bit more than a few weeks to get me in bed."

"What kinda guy?" James repeats and points to Steve's chest causing Steve to look down only to have his nose flicked upwards. James chuckles. "Well, you're a boy scout, that's for sure. You're honest, nonjudgmental, sympathetic. I'd take you home to mama if she were still here, God rest her soul," he says and props himself on his elbows to be an inch or two from Steve's face. Those baby doll eyes of his expand along with that mischievous grin.

"You're _cute as fuck,_ too, and ain't even saying that to be cheeky. Like there's puppy dog cute and _'take home and fuck'_ cute, and you, my friend, have managed to be both."

Steve's head swims. James should stop before Steve's face explodes with how much he's blushing.

"I really just sometimes stare at you when we're eating or watching TV and my fingers literally twitch and itch to pinch the fuck of your cheeks." He demonstrates and the glove descends to his back again and over his right buttock.

"Then there's _these_ cheeks," he marvels and pecks that sweet spot on his neck, weakening his knees. "I could spend hours just fucking into your ass."

"Yeah?" Steve huffs and lowers himself to a plank over top of him. "Funny. I took you for a bottom."

"Oh, _I am_," James corrects him and sighs, forcing Steve forward with the glove over his cheeks. "Something 'bout_ you_, though, baby," he continues and the second Steve is low enough, he feels the stock still force of James' erection against his own. He hadn't even realized he'd been getting so hard till he sees it for himself. His skin is red hot and pink like he'd been pinched senseless, and James has that drooping stare in his eyes and teeth clenching hard over his bottom lip.

"What is it? What is it about me?" Steve prompts for him to finish, sliding his hips downward to James, hushing the man instantly after a strained moan escapes him.

"You're just_ so big_," he tells him. "I just wanna make you my little bitch."

"Kinda like how I'm doing to _you_ right now?"

James nods willingly and a finger picks at the band of his pants. "_Stevie_," he moans when he dips downward again.

"Yes, baby?"

"I really don't mind being your little bitch."

"Good," he kisses James' neck. "'Cus I plan on doing that_ a lot_ in this relationship."

James pouts. "You"You're a dick," he laughs, motioning towards his own and glancing back up at Steve, begging, but not wanting to prove Steve right. "Baby?"

"Look at you," Steve chuckles. "Got yourself all hard for nothing."

"_You_ did that!"

"I didn't initiate a game of grab-ass," He fights back playfully. "I just wanted to cook lunch."

"Stevie, I'm _hard as fuck._"

Those words get Steve even more excited than he'd expected them to. He pretends it doesn't faze him by covering up his own moans with a growling laugh. James grows frustrated with being taunted and bats those lashes so bashfully at Steve that he even fools himself into being innocent. He pulls the biggest mind fuck on Steve and then uses his secret weapon.

"Please," he squeaks and grips Steve's wrists. "_Sir_?"

The smile vanishes from his golden face, and James tries his hardest to hide his victorious smirk. It works _every fucking time._

"You want me to take care of you?" His voice drops even deeper than normal, nearly husky, as his eyes narrow at James with a fierce ambition and questioning towards James' sincerity. The young man looks so much more unsuspecting than normal, and he doesn't know why, but Steve is turned on all over again, hard as a rock and mouth watering at just the idea of getting James off.

He has no clue or justification as to why the fuck that triggered him. Steve didn't even know he had that sexually dominant nature within him. He didn't know until it was presented before him that he had this unexplored, animalistic passion to absolutely destroy James and yet protect him from just about anything.

James nods, lips poked outward. "Yes, sir."

"Tell me what you want," he purrs into James' ears, knowing damn well what he's doing when he takes sweet time lowering the band of James' sweatpants and boxers passed his hips and over his defiant erection.

"_Fuck_," they bite out in unison - James at the release of his aching dick and Steve at the sheer beauty of it.

It's cut with a brown, soft tuff of curls surrounding the base. To Steve's estimation, it's seven inches erect, thin, an angry red at the tip, and already leaking clear pre-ejaculate. The pressure of blood flow within his cock is making it wobble against James' belly button and protruding veins. To James' dismay, Steve is just_ staring_ at it, hand hovering above the tip, trying to figure out where the hell to start first not because he's inexperienced, but because it's the _most gorgeous cock_ Steve's ever seen.

Both men are mystified and may have forgotten their respective roles in this game they've decided to play. Steve just might take James up on being his little bitch after seeing this.

There's an internal battle within both men - maybe for the same reason.

It's pretty monumental in any new relationship - platonic or romantic - when it reaches this level of being comfortable with each other. It's new, scary, _different..._ It's not the same with every relationship, but when you've gone _eight fucking years_ like Steve had without getting intimate with someone the way he is now with James, it can be a little intimidating.

Steve's lip is being chewed between his top and bottom teeth, unsure, and trying to take in the fact that he's face to slit with James' penis. He's panicked almost and maybe even confused as to how their morning turned out like this or maybe at the simple reason that James has a penis. Of course, Steve knew that, but he's looking at it, and he feels this burning sensation all along his face, neck, and chest.

"Oh, my God," he says, hesitating when he wraps thick fingers round it. It's warm and hard as fuck just as James described. Once contant is made, Steve's palm tingles and James hisses.

"Steve, _pleaseeeee_ don't make fun of it," he whines, stretching his words out comically although there's not a trace of hysterics on James' face. "Just - just please..."

"Please, _what_?"

The other man struggles but strains to get the word out. He knows exactly what Steve wants to hear.

"Please, _sir_."

"You gotta tell me what you want," Steve says, and scrambles his brain for a suitable pet name. "Baby boy," he manages and James practically melts in his hand, a thin stream of pre-come oozing from the red slit. Steve sees that and feels himself slowly falling into the groove of this.

"I w-want_ y-you_, s-sir," he stammers, balancing on wobbling elbows to meet Steve's patronizing glare. "You, _please_."

"What do you want, hm?" He tests him and doesn't miss a single twitch or blink when James squirms helpless, eyes shooting from Steve's face to his cock. "You want my hand?"

Steve demonstrates and gives James a handful few tugs, making his hips rise in tune with his ministrations and a choked out whine echo in the apartment.

His hands stop. "Or do you want my mouth?"

Without even thinking, Steve's tongue is running smooth along the underside of James' cock, instantly making them both moan aloud. Steve gets carried away with himself and ventures towards circling his tongue around the slit, making James' hips jerk forward, forcing himself in Steve's mouth. Steve pulls back to avoid biting James, takes his cock in hand again and meets James lips this time. He barely kisses Steve back given he just had his breath taken away.

"So, which one, baby boy? Hm?" Steve taunts, already knowing the answer. James swallows and pecks Steve's chin.

"I want your pretty mouth, sir," he tells him, running his thumb along his fat bottom lip. "_Please_, sir."

"You ask so nicely," Steve compliments, licking along James' balls now, making the other man shiver in delight. "I just have one rule, baby, okay? I told you I don't like surprises, so you have to tell me when you're gonna come."

"Y-yes, sir," he barely whispers. "I'll tell you, sir."

"Good boy," he praises and makes tugging motions around James' cock, slicking it with the pre-come coming from his slit.

"Please, Stevie," James begs. Steve promptly places puckered lips along the head and swirls his wet tongue along the frenulum.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he says in between licks. "I take care of mines."

"I need'ta come, s-sir..."

Pink, swollen lips wrap around James' head and begin to suck graciously, releasing tension within James. He falls out on his elbow and using whatever strength he has left, he casts his eyes downward to watch his cock slowly disappear within streaks of saliva and pre-come between the comfortable confines of Steve's lips. Steve's eyes are closed in concentration - it's been a while since he's done this, and he knows he has to be perfect for James.

With every pump into his mouth, Steve moans aloud at the weight of James' cock upon his tongue. Without his knowledge and if it were even possible, Steve gets even harder - to the point where it's uncomfortable and teasing at the same time. With one hand at the base of James' cock, he uses his other to slip within his own pants. He finds his cock at full attention and begins to relieve himself with a few quick strokes that escalate into full thrusts into his palm. Keeping James in mind, he takes the man's entire length into his mouth, forcing himself not to gag and still breathing shakily through his nose.

He swirls his tongue in relentless loops around James all within the confines of his mouth, making the other man spasm and squirm under him.

"Steve," he whimpers. "Oh, _God.._."

It's when he begins to feel himself choke on it that Steve panics and lets James fall from out of his mouth. Stunned, he peers up at James who is already looking down at him, awestruck, eyes wide and face flushed.

"What?" Steve demands, only now realizing his eyes are watering from holding his breath for so long.

"Please _d-don't stop,_ sir," he answers with a hoarse voice. "_Please._.."

Steve follows the demands even though he's the dominant one in this exchange. There's some primitive streak within Steve when it came to this man - he needs to protect him, he's too good for this world. James is so fucking precious, and deserves nothing in the world but to get his dick sucked all day everyday. Steve doesn't have the patience or stamina to keep that up, so he gives his all in what he can do.

"Fuck, you're gonna suck my soul out, Stevie," James says jokingly in sharp breaths, that baby boy act diminishing. Steve deepthroats him again, and James' head flies back against the carpet and he howls.

"_Fuck!_"

Instinctively, James' hand fist the short, blonde hair on Steve's head, tugging for purchase.

"_Stevie_," he begins and his words turn to a jumble of mispronounced syllables when Steve's pink, wet tongue flicks across the frenulum a second time. Unsure of what to do with himself, James just hovers his hands about Steve's face near his crotch as if he's presenting a project that he didn't study for.

"That _'Stevie'_ shit isn't gonna work, baby boy," Steve tells him unapologetically and deliberately breathing hard on the most sensitive areas of James. The teasing tension of having Steve's pretty little mouth so close but not touching his cock drives James mad, leaving him to only give Steve the best puppy dog eyes he can hope is working. Steve ignores it because he's too used to James' tricks.

"If you want me, you have to call me what I wanna hear. You know what that is, dontchu, honey?"

James nods, speechless.

"Use your words like a big boy," Steve commands, pressing delicate lips to James' taut balls. He shivers at the contact. "I'll only let you come if you do what I tell you to. Tell me, baby. What do you call me?"

Frustration and embarrassment is plastered clear on James' face. It doesn't deter Steve from teasing him further by licking kitten like along the cock before him. James' whole frame is shaking nearly violently as he forces his mouth to work.

"Sir," he finally says after a minute or two of suffering. Steve strokes his own cock at his submissiveness, feeling no shame in making this man beg.

"Say again? Couldn't hear you, " Steve feigns his own innocence and James grimaces.

"Sir, _please..._"

"What do you want, baby?"

"I _need_ to come," he says clearly, on the disruptive verge of tears if Steve doesn't take care of him soon. Little does James know that he has _nothing_ to worry about - Steve has every intention of making his sweet baby boy fulfilled and happy. He doesn't know _why_, but making this man come has become his life mission. He'll let him have what he wants, but first, he needed a little payback.

"Oh, you _need_ to?"

James sees that no matter how much he begs, moans, pleads, and complains, he's not gonna get his way. So, the defiant glare in his eyes goes wasted.

"Yes, sir."

"And what if I say you _don't_ need to?"

Steve sucks James' dick back into his mouth for a few short and uneventful strokes, making James jolt in surprise then whine when Steve lets it bounce from his lips. His hand in his pants still hasn't stopped.

"You know best, sir."

"Good answer, baby," Steve licks a streak along James' balls this time, frustrating him further into what would possibly end up being a well deserved orgasm. Steve watches James as he watches him, making slow, calculated movements out of looping his tongue slickly around James' glistening cock.

"_Please,_ sir," he begs, voice sounding so small and underused. That glassy, hazed over gleam in his eyes indicate he's on the verge of tears, and Steve would feel bad for torturing him like this until he remembers that this is an act. This is another one of James' personalities conning their way right into Steve's head and forcing him to feel obliged to give James just what he wants.

Steve hallows his cheeks and sucks harder with his cheek bones burning, face red, sweat dripping from the forehead. James loses all his cool and has that hand in Steve's hair again, grasping on for dear life, shrieking to the high heavens.

"...my _cock.._." He whispers faintly, forgetting a few of his words as Steve's ministrations increase in speed. His head is bobbing viciously along James' dick and the sensation of being in so much control of James has him stroking himself harder than before.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_," James is chanting desperately, hand losing its grip on Steve's hair as his orgasm rises within. Steve peeks upward at him, and he's never seen anybody look so fucking vulnerable and disoriented in his life. James' glove hand is covering his mouth to muffle screams while the right hand is clawing at the air without purpose. His eyes are shut right, tears leaking from their corners.

"Sir, _it's coming_," he warns him shakily. "It's coming. _I'm gonna come. Holy shit_," he whimpers and slurs, his word jumbling into one, tears streaming down his face.

_C'mon, baby, you got it. Come for me_, Steve says in his head, unwilling to let him fail James by letting his cock slip from his mouth.

"Stevie, it's coming - _fuck!_"

The pre-come seeps in heavy streams for a few moments before Steve feels his own toes curl, his balls tighten and butt cheeks clench together. The wave of pleasure washes over him, followed by a grunt and a series of fist fucking to milk himself out. He doesn't even comprehend how hazy everything is until the wave ebbs and his cock is twitching happily in his hand. He hadn't even noticed that there's a healthy gunk of white semen along his chin, bottom lip, and jaw. James is still whimpering, face covered, tears streaking to his chin. They stay like that for a few minutes before James makes the first move by pushing himself up on his elbows with his back against the couch.

"Fuck," James chuckles to himself under his breath and glances down at Steve. "Fuck," he repeats and wipes his mess from Steve's face with his thumb. Before he knows it, Steve has his mouth open to taste it and doesn't think better of it till he remembers Mischka saying something about James refusing to eat fruits. The bitter taste spreads all along Steve's tongue and he makes his displeasure known by groaning aloud.

"_That bad_?" James asks, still chuckling.

"We gotta improve your diet," Steve tells him then retracts his own hand from his pants. Streaks of come cover his fingers but worm their way towards James' lips. He opens his mouth and stares Steve down without blinking as he licks the semen from his fingers. It's pretty erotic, and Steve just might might get hard again at how fine James looks.

"Tastes kinda sweet," he comments, swallowing whatever traces are left.

"Cus I don't eat takeout every night."

"Whatever," he rolls his eyes and strokes his flaccid cock before tucking it back into his plaid boxers. "Fuck, babe. Thanks. That was nice. I needed that."

"Yeah, that's cute and all but I need a new pair of pants," Steve replies, turning on his side to display the wet patches from where he'd came through his pants.

James has to stifle his laughter as he slips his sweatpants all the way off and tosses them at Steve. "Take your pants off. I'll wash 'em."

They exchange trousers, and Steve's naked from the waist down for a moment before sliding the sweats over his hips. There'r a size too small but they'll make do.

"Ass looks even better this close," James remarks under his breath but Steve still catches it. "I'll be right back," he says and walks down the hallway with Steve's pants and boxer briefs in hand. The second James is out of earshot, there's a vibration and jingle coming from his sweatpants pocket.

On instinct he takes the cell phone out of the pocket, mistaking it for his own and remembering that the pants belong to James. He takes a very quick glance at the screen, takes a few steps down the hallway to hand James his phone, but something clicks in Steve's demeanor when it goes off several more times in twenty seconds.

It'd be unlike Steve to go through someone else's phone. He'd expect privacy from James, but something within him tells him to just take a quick look to see who it is blowing up his kinda-but-not-really boyfriend's phone. It's _not_ being dishonest, is it? It's sheer curiosity. It's not that he _doesn't _trust James...

The phone chirps another handful of times, and Steve stares at it hard before just setting it on the coffee table. He's not sure where that need to scope through James' phone came from so suddenly, but it made his stomach feel uneasy that he put his mouth on the penis of a man he's not sure he trusts just yet.

Maybe he's being ridiculous. He _trusts_ James; he just wants to be nosy. With such unrestricted, easy access to such a personal aspect of anyone's life, anybody would be nosy and take that chance, right?

Steve trusts James. He_ does._

"Got a text?" James chipper voice startles him when he enters the living room. Steve tenses and tosses the cell phone to him, and he catches it.

"Yeah, it was blowing up," Steve agrees and swallows a lump in his throat. "It's not from work, is it?"

James takes a moment to respond as he scrolls through the screen and grimaces at whoever had been texting him so insistently. Steve's crushed momentarily but then manages to smile when James tosses his phone on the couch and closes the space between them two by tugging on the band of the sweatpants.

"Nah, it ain't shit," he tells Steve, kissing along his neck with exaggerated sucking sounds. "I'm all _yours_ today, sir."

"Wouldn't make you a very good boy if you were lying to me," Steve says, taking James' chin in his hand. "You_ swear_ you're all_ mine_?"

"I _swear._"

Steve's baby blues analyze James' greys sharply, searching intently for any signs of uncertainty or fibbing. James just blinks back at him and takes Steve's wrists into his hand.

"No need to be _so_ suspicious, baby," James assures him, going back to kissing his neck. "I'm a thousand percent yours till the munchkin gets out in a few hours. Now, whatchu wanna do?"

James is so hard to hate and almost as hard to trust. But something in those young eyes propels Steve to believe every word he says. There's a conviction in James he's not aware he has in himself - that's probably why he was so shy around him when he first moved in.

"What were we doing before we, um -?"

"Figuring out lunch. You wanted to cook."

"Right, right," Steve nods, remembering and returning James' kisses. "What do you want? You can have whatever you'd like."

"I want Thai."

"Again?"

And because Steve is so willing, Steve gets him his precious Thai food from the nearest carry- out across the street. They eat over a cartoon in what should be silence to actually watch the television, but James' phone is going off _again._

"Seems like you're pretty popular, eh?" Steve says to lighten the mood, but it's on a slow track to being ruined if James doesn't put it on silent really fucking soon. James notes the rising annoyance in Steve's tone anyway and rolls his eyes.

"Sorry," he apologizes and pecks Steve's cheek. "Let's just watch the cartoon."

They get through another five minutes before James' beeps once more and three more times thirty second later. Neither of them says anything, and James seems to be doing a good job at ignoring it while it drives Steve mad. He's tempted to take a peak when James goes back down the hall to take his pants out the washer and into the dryer. He doesn't, and not before long, three o'clock rolls around and James leaves him in the apartment to go pick up Mischka.

Temptation is at it's highest when the texts keep rolling in just moments after James leaves. Accidentally leaving his phone is certainly _not_ giving Steve permission to go through it, yet Steve's fingers _itch._ He holds the device in his hands for a minute, contemplating what he should do. He_ could _and_ should_ do the regular Captain America thing and mind his business, but he's already been unethical for once in his life this evening by doing what'd he'd did with James, so how much worse could_ this_ be?

Steve really should stop himself when he opens up James' phone with ease being as though it's unlocked with no pass code. That must be a sign of having nothing to hide.

His thumb hovers questioningly over the tiny envelope icon that has a red message count over it. Taking a much needed breath, he clicks it anyway and immediately is brought to a conversation between James and Clint.

Steve trusts Clint.

He scrolls anyway and skims their conversation, smiling at certain parts of it like when they make plans for Mischka to spend the weekend with Clint and his wife or taking her to the park. He goes as far as last week, and his heart begins to thump with hard thuds against his chest when his name pops up in the conversation.

**CLINT:**_ so what'd u do tonite?_

**JAMES:**_ hung out with Steve_

**CLINT:**_ ;)_

**JAMES:**_ No, not like that..._

**CLINT:**_ taking this one slow? Hmmm..._

**JAMES:**_ idk man this one might stick around_

**CLINT:**_ lucky you_

Steve is blushing really hard as he reads every text about him. He finds so many that he ends up taking a seat at the piano bench to read them all comfortably.

**CLINT:**_ bucky if I didn't know any better I'd say u were in love with this kid_

**JAMES:**_ he's just my friend_

**CLINT:**_ nobody here is stupid or blind any normal person can tell u like him_

**JAMES:**_ well duh of course I like him what's not to like..._

**CLINT:**_ aw boy here we go..._

**JAMES:**_ No srsly Clint hes a good guy_

**CLINT:**_ I can tell_

**JAMES:**_ for one thing he's great with Mischka she adores him and talks about him more than I do lol_

**JAMES:**_ and he's smart like college smart like annoyingly corrects my grammar smart ... it's actually kinda hot_

**JAMES:**_ he's kinda artsy too u should see his work it's amazing_

**JAMES:**_ and ughhhhh clint he's so fucking cute like not just physically cute but just some of the stuff he says sometimes makes me wanna shrink him down to pinkie size and carry him around in my pocket so I can just keep him as a pet_

**CLINT:**_ ..._

**JAMES:**_ ok that might be a bit weird but it gets my point across_

Steve doesn't even get to finish the conversation before another round of urgent text messages passes through. They're clearly not from Clint, so Steve's smile drops as he investigates. He'll feel like shit later for going through James' phone, but as of right now, he didn't care. It's purely frustration that drives Steve to going to his most recent messages, and face his worst assumptions. In the past half an hour, a Brock Rumlow had sent James thirty messages and Steve sits there reading every single one.

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ doll I really need to see u tonite_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ my cock is hard thinking about u_

**BROCK RUMLOW:** _come over tonight_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ please babe_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ i just wanna tie you up babe _

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ eat that cute ass of yours out_

**BROCK RUMLOW: **_fuck I'm so hard_

**BROCK RUMLOW: **_answer me babe r u free?_

**BROCK RUMLOW**_**:** im really hard Bucky please_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ we can do whatever you'd like sweetie just please_

**BROCK RUMLOW:** _I know the deal on being short notice ok just please_

**BROCK RUMLOW: **_answer my fucking texts_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ where r u?_

**BROCK RUMLOW**_: im coming to get you where r u_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ answer me baby_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ if ur with someone else right now that's fine please text me back soon_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ my patience is wearing thin Bucky_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ baby please answer I'm so hard right now and I don't wanna give it to anybody else but u_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ honey I love u answer me_

**BROCK RUMLOW:** _ur gonna be severely punished for this later u know I hate waiting_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ it's been ten minutes_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ why're u ignoring me_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ the other nite was so nice I just wanna have another good time with u baby_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ tell whoever the fuck ur with that I don't take too kindly with sharing my toys_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ if u keep being this bad I might not let u cum tonight_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ you'd like that wouldn't u huh u fucking cock tease_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ fuck u_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ I'm sorry baby u know I get jealous easy_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ just the idea of u with anybody else makes me crazy_

**BROCK RUMLOW:**_ please baby_

The first thing Steve wants to do is delete the number and throw the phone out the window so the screen shatters and James won't read a single one of the texts Brock sent. He considers it for a moment but instead just locks the phones, puts it back in the pants pocket, and breathes as slow as he can manage because if he forces his body to do anymore, he'll end up having a panic attack.

After his breathing is under control, he thinks reasonably and weighs all the options at hand. He could confront James and face the embarrassment of admitting he'd peeked through his phone, _or_ he could keep what he'd seen to himself and pretend everything is alright. And because Steve is selfless as all hell, he'll most likely end up going with the latter. As infuriated as he feels himself getting at the moment, he has to remind himself that James _isn't_ his boyfriend. nor did he even respond to the demanding idiocy of the texts. Steve doesn't wanna say he's jealous because he has no desire to be this Brock Rumlow character who demands so highly of James' attention, but there's that underlying possessiveness in Steve that wants to have James all to himself, and it makes him angry that any other man would_ dare_ think to even take what's his.

There had to be a layer of seriousness between James and Brock's relationship if he's this fervent in getting in contact with him as well as telling him he loves him. According to their texts, they'd been together the other night when he'd told Steve he had to work.,

Somehow, everything makes sense now. It's not right, but it all comes together. James is probably sparing Steve's feelings by saying he has work when he's with Brock. He'd rather not be lied to, and it'd mean a lot if James didn't feel like he'd had to hide anything from Steve. James isn't doing anything wrong really; he's only twenty-seven years old. All he's doing is _dating._ Steve had every right to do so as well, but that didn't change how disgusting he felt being in competition for the title of James' boyfriend.

For all he knows, Brock_ is_ already his boyfriend, and he's simply a side piece for when Brock gets crazy like in his text messages, but Steve doesn't wanna think the worst. He reviews the texts a few more times, and grimaces at each one. The perimeter of his face gets hotter and hotter with anger as he re-reads all thirty of them.

Not only does Brock have the privilege of telling James he loves him, he even pegs him with a dumbass nickname: _Bucky._

Deriving _'Bucky'_ from James isn't overly obvious to Steve, so he's left to assume that it's something between the two of them - something he and James don't have. Over time, Steve has grown used to James calling him _'Stevie,'_ but that's the closest they have to pet names.

In all actuality, it's truly _pathetic._

_Don't get jealous...he's not yours..._

Well, he's_ not_ Brock Rumlow's so that makes him feel a sliver of a bit better. He knows for damn sure that Brock _can't_ be his boyfriend. James isn't stupid enough to let this kinda guy near his daughter, and he certainly wouldn't pass Clint's test of being worth James' time.

Steve sighs and puts the phone away again. He shouldn't and won't mention such a trivial thing to James since he feels confident enough to know James is his and he's James'.

For the most part.

* * *

It's about seven o' clock when James and Steve step out to walk Carter while Mischka gets help on her homework - which was simple math - from their neighbor.

The growing pup is dragging Steve along in wonder, sniffing her usual spots as James goes on and on about how well Mischka did today and the report that her teacher'd given him. He's absolutely gushing with pride, and Steve only feels a little bad when he interrupts, agitated not at him, but at what he'd seen earlier.

"Where'd you get your nickname from?"

James abruptly stops, eyes him, and chuckles nervously. "Which one?"

"_Bucky_."

The other man stops walking altogether and wiggles his eyebrows at Steve. "Where'd you hear that name?" He asks defensively, voice hard and guarded unlike the tone he'd used when talking of his daughter.

"Clint called you that once or twice before," Steve lies, making his tongue burn. He ignores that feeling by tugging on Carter's leash to lead her away from eating some litter.

"_Oh_," James relaxes and keeps walking at his even pace. "Um, it's actually something my little sister, Becca, came up with. See, my middle name's Buchanan like the president. At the time, she couldn't pronounce it and she had a bit of a speech problem, so Buchanan became Bucky."

It's almost reassuring to know that his nickname had literally nothing to do with Brock. It's a cute ass nickname, and it's nice to know it won't have a negative connotation to it whenever Steve thinks of it. A juvenile grin spreads across his face.

"Also, I had huge buck teeth from like age five to thirteen before I grew into them and got braces, so that's another reason why Bucky stuck so well," James adds, rattling his teeth together to make a tapping sound. "No one but you calls me James. If it means anything, I'd been meaning to ask you to call me that instead of James. Only reminds me I'm getting older."

"Yeah?"

He nods. "It's not asking too much, is it?"

"Of course not, Bucky," he tests it out, and it rolls right off the tongue how'd he'd expect it to.

James, well rather, Bucky is grinning from ear to ear at the sidewalk. Steve nudges his shoulder and suavely grabs his hand to intertwine in his own.

"My sweet Bucky," Steve sings and kisses his stubble. "Keep telling me about Mischka's day."

And so he does, and he does it with that same enthusiasm that he had when he'd been telling Steve about his music. That smile doesn't falter for the rest of the walk home, through their Thai food leftover dinner, and onto tucking Mischka in. Just as Bucky flicks the light out in her room, and shuts the door, it reopens and the little ballerina comes flying out, passing James and down the hall to the living room where Steve was sketching.

Her tiny arms fold around Steve as she whispers, "Goodnight, Stevie. _I love you_," with all the sincerity in her sassy little frame. Steve's so caught off guard that he just laughs aloud and squeezes back to return the hug.

"Love you, too, Mischka. Get to bed," he tells her and she pecks his cheek before zooming off down the hall and a door slam follows. Stunned, Steve just puts his pad and pencil down and ponders how the hell that'd happened so quickly.

"You might as well adopt her now," Bucky jokes, laying on the sofa with his head in Steve's lap. "She likes you more than me."

"I like you more than a lot of people, if it makes ya feel any better."

"Quit being such a fluffy asshole. Why're you so_ nice_ to me?"

"Shut up," Steve orders him lovingly, kissing his forehead. "You think too damn much."

"Could say the same about you."

"I don't-"

"You can convince yourself all you want, Rogers, but _you're_ the_ epitome_ of over thinking."

"Yeah, how?"

Bucky shrugs, head snuggling close against Steve's crotch with a sideway smirk. "Sam tells me a lot about you, and I watch you closely. You over think little things like if I told you I liked you, you'd second guess and think I wasn't telling you the truth because you think someone's trying to hurt you."

_That's pretty accurate._ Steve can't lie it is.

"But, I'm not," Bucky goes on, guiding his gloved hand to Steve's and placing it on his head where Steve begins to scratch his scalp. "I just kinda wanna address some stuff with you, if that's alright," he continues, his voice turning soft and almost cautious. He looks so much younger than twenty-seven, compelling Steve to wanna protect him even further and have him selfishly to himself forever and always and as far from Brock Rumlow as possible.

"Yeah, go ahead."

Bucky exhales slowly and flutters his eyes shut to avoid looking in Steve's eyes.

"I just want you to know that in the time I've known you, I'm really trying to let go of some of the darker elements of my life," he begins cuddling closer towards Steve, indicating he yearns for more than just getting his head scratched. Steve caresses his baby boy's face carefully and listens.

"I really don't want you to think you mean less to me than you do. Since meeting you, I can honestly say moving back to Brooklyn was the best thing I've done in the past five years. You are a huge part of me wanting to turn certain aspects of my life around, and as badly as I wanna tell you the whole truth right now, I'm learning how to just be truthful with myself, ya know? I know it's confusing, and you could have literally anybody you wanted, but I just wanna say how grateful I am that you waste your time with me."

"I'm not wasting my-"

Bucky's whine of despair shuts Steve right up. "I'm not finished. Just - I like you, Stevie. I commend you for tolerating me, and thanks for everything you've done for me so far. I've got more baggage than you think, and before we can move forward, I just wanna shed some light on it. It's not the most comfortable thing to talk about yet, but I'm hoping you'll stay long enough to find out and help me through it."

Steve thinks Bucky is crying with how low and sad his voice is the way it's muffling into Steve's lap. He looks down, and the other man looks asleep rather than just sad.

"Of course, I will."

"You swear?"

"Anything you want, baby, I got you. It's all yours."

Bucky pauses and moves in closer. "Please stay the night."

Steve feels just how much his friend needs this. His voice is desperate and dry, lacking that life it usually has when he speaks. James had to have read Brock's text. There couldn't be anything else that had to upset him like this.

"I'll stay," Steve promises, and a tired Bucky rises from the sofa to guide Steve towards his bedroom. He shuts the door behind them, and Steve makes to get his lover comfortable by removing his raglan tee for him, but Bucky's right hand flies to stop him by sharply grabbing his wrist.

To see the dilemma, Steve's eyes flicker to meet Bucky's stormy ones, and they're harsh and guarded, yet so scared and youthful. He shakes his head and let's his wrist go to instead remove Steve's shirt and toss it somewhere in the room. Bucky runs fingers down and along Steve's broad and muscly chest, torso, and shoulders in nonsensical patterns for his own entertainment. Not before long, his nipples are hard from the teasing notion of Bucky's fingers being so close yet not touching which causes him to moan aloud.

The brunet sighs and kisses along Steve's neck before strategically pushing Steve on his bed so that he can easily straddle his hips. Once he's atop of Steve, he rocks just so lightly to tell that Steve is just as hard as he is. They'd both be lying bastards if they'd told one another that they were ready to take that jump with each other just yet.

It's not till Bucky places a tentative hands over Steve's diaphragm to steady himself that he realizes that Steve's just as shaky as he is. They fix their breathing together, and without preamble, they're staring doe eyed at each other, enthralled in the other's existence.

The blond makes that first move in leaning upward to hold James go his body. James breaks down and gasps for air as Steve rubs his palms over his back.

"I just wanna be a good boy for you," he admits to Steve, squeezing him everywhere their skin meets. His muscles seem to shake violently in a throttle with how hard he's clenching to Steve.

"I can be good, Steve. I can be good," he's sobbing into his neck, right hand tight in his hair while the left in around his neck. "I'll be such a good boy, I swear."

"Shh, Bucky-"

"Ill be good, Steve, please don't leave yet..."

If Steve thought any doubt in his mind about James or Bucky or whoever this person is, he's positive of it now. He needs to help this man.

And he just might need help back.


	8. 8

"So, I guess you guys are pretty serious now?"

Steve smirks as he keeps his pace even with Sam's. _Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot..._

"Who?" he feigns innocence and laughs hysterically at Sam's exaggerated eye roll.

"You and Barnes. Pretty serious?"

"What gives you an idea like that?"

Sam huffs a deep breath and keeps running. "Well, for one, he talks about you a lot more during our private sessions. Been happier than I've seen him recently."

Steve will probably never grow tired of hearing how much Bucky talks about him."Yeah?"

"Yeah, man," Sam replies, taking a breath between each word. "Don't know what you did, but he's really expressing himself more often in group session. Told us about his wife and everything."

"Really?" Steve wants to sound surprised, but it doesn't come naturally. He's used to how casually Bucky speaks of Natasha.

"Yeah, he's really open about her and their kid."

"Mischka," he tells him. "That's her name."

"Yeah, it's Russian, right?"

"Means _'little bear,'_" Steve recalls from Bucky telling him one time. "Not sure, but it's probably a thing between him and Natasha."

Sam nods and they jog in silence except for their huffing breaths and the hard patter of their tennis shoes on the sidewalk. It's not an awkward silence;it's more relaxing if anything. With as much shit that they've gone through, it's nearly impossible for anything to be awkward between Sam and Steve.

They met Steve's freshman year and Sam's junior; Steve was still adjusting to that awkward transition from middle school to high school as well as the one his body was going through what with all the puberty. Not only that, but he was coming to terms with his sexuality with great horror when he'd found himself getting more aroused than usually when he was in the boy's locker room. And while all this transpired, Sam was a rising star athlete on their school's basketball and football team who had luck with the ladies and grades that excelled everyone else's in his class. He was a model student who helped out with charities and was always first to volunteer at a school function.

No one would outright match the school's finest athlete with an insecure, lanky, bi-curious freshman, yet somehow they were best friends from jump even with being social opposites.

Steve remembers it like it'd been yesterday.

He'd been taking his growth hormones prescribed by Dr. Erksine for a month now, and by the time he'd hit fourteen, they'd made him an inch or two taller. For the medicine to work accordingly and effectively, they were to be taken twice everyday at the same times to regulate within Steve's system.

The time was one something, and Steve had gym class. The time was approaching to take his medicine, and for obvious reasons he was frightened enough already to change in front of the other boys, but to inject himself with his medicine too? He'd much rather _die._

His mother, Sarah, tried to sympathize with him by saying that the other boys wouldn't care and maybe be sensitive enough towards his condition to not make fun. As endearing as that sounded, Steve wasn't an idiot. Kids are cruel.

So that's why everyday at one something, Steve would shyly get dressed for gym and retreat to the bathroom with his two vitamins and injection pen. He'd done it for only a month and was still trying to figure out how to care for himself without hurting himself with the needle in the pen. Erksine advised Steve to take the medicine to his school nurse, but his pride got the better of him, and he swore he could do it himself.

But there he was, fumbling with the needle, pills stuck unfortunately in his throat from forgetting to down it with water, and he was on the verge of a panic attack long before he went to war. He'd been shaking so much before and to up his anxiety, he began to hear the voices of the other boys in the locker room drift to the bathroom. That scared him enough to actually _drop his_ _pen, _and it rolled right out of his grasp from under of the stall.

At first he thought his prayers would be answered and the other boys wouldn't notice, but because Steve is Steve, they clearly noticed and the whole bathroom went silent.

"Fuck, what's that?" One of them laughed, and Steve swore he died when one of them picked it up. He thought he could get his skinny legs up in time before they knocked on the stall door, but to no avail, they did.

"Hey, man, are you alright in there?" Another one chuckled. Steve wasn't sure if he was mocking him or genuinely concerned. Either or, Steve took a deep breath decided to come out fighting like a wildcat - _figuratively_ speaking. If they were gonna tease, he could _at least_ defend himself. He knew he could help his condition, and he wasn't gonna let anyone take at least that from him.

Using as much force as he could, he slammed the stall door open, shocking the two boys. One was Sam and the other was one of his basketball teammates, Phil Coulson.

There was a brief silence before Steve snatched his pen from Sam's hand and damn near growled at the boy. "I'm fine. _Gimme that!_" Steve prepped himself to be punched square in the mouth, but instead, laughter came from the older males. Sam's arms were up in defense.

"Hey, slugger," he laughed, exposing his gap tooth. "Don't wanna any trouble. You dropped your medicine."

Steve had a sassy remark ready until he heard his word choice. "How'd you know it was -"

"Well, _if_ it was steroids, your dealer jipped you, little man," Sam said, hitting Steve's barely there bicep. "And, 'sides, ain't no one stupid, Rogers. We all know it's_ just y_our medicine."

Steve was taken aback. "Y-you do?"

Phil nodded. "Yeah, coach told us."

Steve was horrified, but Sam had placed a warm hand to his shoulder to assure him. "It's not_ that_ big of a deal."

And every one something after that, Steve found himself getting assistance from Sam to get his injection. Phil would help sometimes too, but something about Sam made Steve feel alright and secure in his condition. Not before long as Steve got bigger and taller, Sam began to boost Steve socially by talking him up to the upperclassman girls as well as the sports manager. By Steve's junior year, he was a part of the man he is today, standing at 6'2 and on his way to gaining muscle. It frustrated the fuck out of nearly everybody that someone with Steve's build spent all his time painting and drawing. Sam saved him a spot in college, and they never lost contact - not even when Steve went off to Afghanistan and Sam went off to Iran. Of course, they'd found their ways back to each other, and that's why sixteen years later, they're still best friends.

The medicine incident isn't the only reason why he and Sam are close. Sam coached him through a lot of fucked up shit like denying his bisexuality because he was afraid Sam and everybody else he idolized would think he was gross. In the middle of that confession, Sam _kissed_ Steve square on the mouth, stunning the younger boy. Not a lot of words were exchanged after the event, but that action alone assured Steve more than any _'I'll-love-you-no-matter-what'_ speech ever could. It stayed between them, they _never_ talked about it, but somehow Steve knew he'd be thanking him one day for it.

And he is.

Bucky is a close call for being the greatest person Steve's come across in years. They'd only known each other a month, but in that time, he's _never_ felt more alive. There's such a sense of security being with one another. Steve feels he can tell Bucky anything, and he won't judge him.

And he doesn't. He really doesn't.

According to Sam, Bucky had made massive improvement within the VA sessions because of Steve. Steve sees those minor baby steps in letting himself be freer like letting his hair down from that bun or singing in public places.

However, the glove remains.

Steve's curiosity shifted to frustration at the mention of that glove. All the VA sessions in the world couldn't get him to take it off - come to think of it, Steve's _never_ seen Bucky in a short sleeve shirt or without a jacket. He's _never_ seen this man's fucking arms, and he thinks Sam might know something, but he wouldn't tell Steve no matter how long they've been best friends.

The men continue their jog around the park, earphones back in. They occasionally pause to stretch as well as take a water break, stroll and keep talking.

"So, when do you see him again?"

"Tonight, actually," Steve answers, bending forward to touch his toes in a straddle. "Going back to hear his band again."

"You're sure you can handle that?" Sam asks, loosely alluding to the meltdown Steve had last time. "Because-"

Steve just shrugs and cuts his sentence off before he can finish. "Sam, I'll be alright. Bucky's a good guy, and I feel safe with him."

Sam abruptly stops his stretches and stumbles to look at his friend "Whoa, whoa - _Bucky?_ Y'all got _nicknames_ now?"

"His sister made it up when they were kids," Steve explains, totally ignoring that giddy look Sam's giving him.

"So, if he's Bucky, then you're...?"

Steve mumbles, bending even further into his straddle.

"Come again?"

He repeats the action, keeping his lips a tight line.

"One more time."

"_Stevie_," he chokes out. "He calls me Stevie."

Sam's smirk vanishes and his eyebrows fly up in shock. He twists his arms to stretch his trap muscle before shaking his head and exhaling.

"How're you dealing with that?"

"'M used to it. It used to annoy me, but now it's kinda cute," Steve admits, leaning upward and shaking his legs out.

"Never thought I'd ever see the day you don't cut off someone's tongue for using that name again."

He hates to say he agrees with Sam. "Well, _'Steve'_ itself is already a nickname. It's almost as natural as saying '_Sammy.'_"

"You sure you're okay with it?"

"Bucky didn't do what_ she_ did, alright? It's fine. There's no reason for him to be deprived of something as trivial as a nickname because of her."

Sam also hates to admit when Steve's right, and he knows he is. "Whatever you say, Steve. Let's take another lap."

As Steve's best friend, Sam has every right to worry of his wellbeing. He's more than justified in poking his nose in all of Steve's business. His bullshit is Steve's bullshit, and Steve's bullshit is his bullshit.

As stated before, they'd been through too much - Sam was more than the shoulder to cry on when Steve had his heart broken. He was the voice of reason talking Steve off of a figurative ledge to self destruction. All Steve wanted to do was sit in his bedroom, locked away from everyone he'd ever known for the sole reason that he didn't wanna face the sympathetic looks he'd spent his adolescent years receiving. He'd been more than proud in boasting and telling everyone he knew that he was engaged to the woman of his dreams, and to have it spat back in his face would kill him if the heartbreak itself hadn't.

Sam, _bless him_, had been a rock for Steve at that time in his life. He'd been the savior that consoled Steve through his heartache as well as the asshole who pushed Steve out of his bedroom and away from Ben &amp; Jerry's ice cream. Steve would thank Sam forever for sparing him the 'other fish in the sea' bullshit and just forcing him to get his shit together. He was so young at the time, and it felt like his entire world was crashing down on him until Sam assured him that everything would be okay. God bless Sam and everything he's done for Steve.

The men finish their jog and go their separate ways afterwards. Sam had a private session in a while, and Steve was spending the remainder of his day with Bucky and Mischka just like he usually does nowadays. The routine hasn't been broken, but it's definitely been distorted. That apartment is _still_ a safe haven.

Not before long, Steve's back in his apartment and only gets a moment to sit down before there's a loud knocking at his door that can only be his bestest girl.

"You _smell_ funny," she tells him, rushing right passed him and to greet Carter. He twists his face and scrunches his nose when he gets a good whiff of himself. A shower is in order.

"You _look_ funny," Steve retaliates and looks into the hallway. "Where's your Daddy?"

"He'll be over in a few moments. He's doing his hair."

Steve grumbles and rolls his eyes. That should take another millennium, and they'd never make it to the show tonight.

"Right," he replies and heads for the linen closet to get a clean washcloth and towel. "How was school, kid?"

"It was nice," she tells him from the other room. "My ballet teacher broke her ankle, so we have a permanent substitute, Ms. Wanda."

"Yeah? You like Ms. Wanda?"

"She's weird. So, yeah, I like her."

Steve laughs to himself with his towel over his shoulder. His next stop is the kitchen where he gets out a clean knife, a cutting board and Mischka's favorite fruits. "Well, that's nice. Anything else happen?"

Carter and Mischka enter the kitchen at the same time and appear behind Steve to lean on him. Carter's tags jingle.

"Not really," she looking up at him. "We've got a homecoming dance recital coming up. You can come if you wanna."

He retrieves a bowl from the cabinet to dump the fruit. "You already know I'm there," he promises and drops a piece of pineapple to her. She catches it in her mouth and wipes her mouth from any juices.

"Our dance is a mix of ballet and jazz. I'm not good at jazz, but Pietro is. Pietro's good at_ everything,_" she continues with her voice getting squeakier and more adoring than usual. It's the voice she uses when she wants something out of Steve or Bucky, but it sounds so much more loving this time. He doesn't miss it.

Steve sets the fruit bowl at the island, and she climbs on a bar stool to reach it.

"Pietro, huh?"

Her cheeks are gushing redder than usual, but she just nonchalantly eats her fruit bowl like Steve hadn't spoken.

"Who's Pietro?" He asks, getting two water bottles from the fridge. He sets one before her, and she quietly thanks him but doesn't elaborate on his question. Steve's never seen Mischka, of all people, get so coy and over what assumes is a boy.

"Is Pietro your new boyfriend?"

"Don't tell Daddy," she begs, hands in prayer position and green eyes widened to their maximum.

"Tell him what?" Steve laughs, leaning onto the island in front of her with one hand stealing fruit from her bowl and the other letting Carter. "It's cute you have a little crush."

"It's not just a crush, Steve. I think _I love him_."

Steve tries his best not to laugh. "How do you figure?"

"Pietro is really, really cute, and his hair is silver cus he didn't need his mommy's permission to dye it, and he's number one on his school's track team, and his favorite color is blue that's why he has a blue car and -"

"Wait a second," he cuts her rambling run-on sentence off when a few of the things she'd mentioned raise a few red flags. Judging by how she'd introduced him into the conversation, he could safely assume that she was gushing over a boy in her class. What elementary school kid drove and dyed their hair? "How old is Pietro?"

"I don't know, but he's really tall - as tall as Daddy! And he has a beard! A little, scruffy beard like Daddy, too. Why don't _you_ have a beard?"

From the sounds of it, this Pietro kid wasn't even in elementary school as much as he was a full grown man in a dance company class. Before drifting to the wrong conclusion, Steve pokes Mischka's shoulder to get her attention again.

"Why's he even there?"

"He's Ms. Wanda's twin brother. They took dance when they were younger, and he was our old teacher's assistant, but now he's gonna be featured in our company class dance."

Steve would be amazed at her use of such advanced words, but he's too stuck on this Pietro situation. Sounds like Mischka has her first crush on an older boy which makes the situation even funnier and cuter. Steve tries not to laugh again.

"Oh, _that's funny_," he says to himself. "So, you like him?"

"I love him!" She corrects him over a sloppy bite of pineapple.

"Love _who_?" Bucky's voice rings out in the apartment, grabbing Carter's attention. The pup runs meet him halfway, and they enter the kitchen. God, he looks good, Steve thinks to himself. The extra time on his hair was well worth it because tonights middle part trumped any others, and Steve just wants to get his hands on him.

"No one," Mischka answers before Steve a little too quickly. She eyes him willfully and continues to eat. "Daddy, doesn't Steve smell?"

The blond man returns her look with a glare. Of course, she'd change the subject onto_ him._

James sniffs Steve and shrugs. "Must've came from a run," he concludes and picks fruit from Mischka's bowl. He grimaces at the taste but swallows it anyway.

"It'll only take me a moment for me to get ready," Steve tells Bucky as they walk side by side to the bedroom, leaving their daughters in the kitchen.

"Yeah, 'cus I'm'a help you."

Bucky drags him towards his bedroom and casually shuts the door behind him. Steve's balance is knocked as well as his thoughts interrupted when Bucky grabs him forcefully by the forearm and slams him hard and fast against the closed door. Seconds later, the other man's lips are leaving trails of wet kisses along Steve's neck and right over his sweet spot. His knees buckle and he's on a quick descent to the carpet before Bucky catches him and pins him back to the wall.

"You smell -" he pauses to kiss his chin. "_Fucking amazing._"

"Haven't showered yet," Steve informs him, holding tight to Bucky's hips as they graze against his own.

"I read online that when one person thinks another person's body odor like sweat smells good -" he pauses with heated breaths to lick along the edge of Steve's jaw and bite hard on that sweet spot, inflicting a yelp out of Steve. A victorious smile spreads over his lips as he continues.

"-it means that they're perfectly paired, and if they were to have kids -" he whispers that last part right into Steve's ears, and pulls him forward to sway the hard outline in his tight jeans against the one in Steve's. "- they'd have a strong immune system. Whaddyou say, Stevie? Tryna get me pregnant?"

At that, Steve pushes Bucky off of him and he lands on the bed in a fit of laughter. His penis is still struggling behind the restriction of his denim skinny jeans, but he keeps on laughing, one hand on his stomach while the other reaches for Steve.

"C'mon, Stevie," he beckons, leaning up to grab Steve's wrists before he can go inside the bathroom. "Laugh with me. It's a _joke._ Ya know the kind you laugh at. Or do those stop at the thirty year mark?"

Steve flashes him a innocent sneer and begins to strip. "Very funny, but the last thing I wanna picture when you're dry humping me is pregnant men."

Bucky lets out another laugh. "It's pretty funny, but admit it. You do smell delicious, and we'd make a really nice kid if we could."

"Yeah?" He removes his shorts next and tosses them in the hamper along with his T-shirt and sweatshirt.

"Yeah, I've thought about it a bit. Is that weird?"

Steve glances down at the deflating tent in his boxer briefs and shakes his head. "No," he says when he's soft again and turns his back to Bucky while he picks out clothes from his dresser.

"Our kid would be tall, that's for sure," Bucky says after a moment. "I'm about six feet, and you're the size of the Chrysler building so sports are in his or her future.

"And we both have got really light eyes. I'm not sure which gene is more dominant between blue and green, but-"

"_Grey_," Steve interjects immediately, making Bucky's head snap up in surprise. He leans on his elbows and raises an eyebrow at him.

"_Huh?_"

"Your eyes are _grey_, not green. Well, they get a tinge of green in the sun or if you're wearing a light color, but for the most part, they're grey. Not like storm clouds, but like grey. It's a pretty grey," Steve explains and turns a few shades at how reverently Bucky's staring at him.

That statement was a bit embarrassing, and he'd basically given away how often he spends time staring at Bucky or just thinking about him in general. Steve can't help it - details is what he does for a living so of course he'd noticed that Bucky's eyes are like two, sheltered, granite colored orbs that hypnotize anyone they look at.

"_Hmmm..._" Bucky hums and half smiles. "Never noticed. Our kid would probably have blue eyes anyway. Brown, wavy hair like mine, too."

"She'd have a knack for music," Steve contributes.

"And be a great artist," Bucky adds.

"She'd be beautiful," he continues.

Even as a young child, he knew he'd always wanted to have a family. Of course, at the time he'd decided this, he knew that no women - or man - would ever find him eligible as a father or husband, always looking over his heartfelt personality and judging his abilities by his size. And because he underestimated himself so early on, he never tried even after he beefed up. There had been one instance in which he'd been on his lifelong journey to fatherhood and being a family man, but some opportunities just get cut short. Steve accepted it, but it had a lasting impression.

He has no idea why he's waited _so long_. He waisted eight perfect years to restart the path he'd set himself on to obtain that family man goal. His heart swells and fizzles out to a shriveled, helpless prune when he has to remind himself that Mischka isn't his daughter, and at some brief point in time, Bucky had everything he'd ever wanted. He speaks so casually of Natasha that it angers Steve from time to time that Bucky had such a nice life and he sees her death as no big deal.

Well, he can't judge - he has _no clue_ what he'd been through before finding Steve.

It still hurts though.

Steve wants _that_ life. He yearns for it. Everything Bucky's saying about having a kid turns the gears in Steve's head as actively as it makes his stomach clench.

Bucky's probably his last chance for a fraction of that life. Mischka's his absolute baby, but he wanted to be there for one of his own to change diapers and give midnight feedings.

He shakes his head.

"She would be," Bucky nods, not noticing how bittersweet the conversation had gotten. "Glad we can agree we'd want a daughter. Any names you like?"

"Summer," Steve says after thinking about it. "That's a pretty name, yeah?"

"I like it. If she had a twin, we'd name her Winter."

"Sounds like a plan. I guess I should start now. I hear it takes longer to get men pregnant than women," Steve deadpans and Bucky begins to laugh again. He bounces off the bed to stalk over to a half naked Steve to wrap his arms around his broad, nude torso. His hands barely reach the front with how large his build is, yet Steve still feels the effort and feels safe. He sets his hand over Bucky's and squeezes.

"Nervous?"

"'Bout what?"

"Tonight's show."

"Why would I be _nervous_?"

"You don't get a little shaky when you premiere a new song?"

Bucky shrugs. "Not really," he mumbles into Steve's skin as he kisses along his damp shoulder blades. "You're gonna be there, so there's nothing to be nervous about."

"Yeah, but I've heard the song like seventeen million times."

"Exactly. And I _know you_ _like it_," Bucky says and kisses harder about Steve's neck. "I really didn't care for anybody else's opinion on my music before you, and I won't start now. Now hop in the shower. That sexy sweat shit is wearing off," he orders Steve and spanks him lightly and he jumps. Steve wraps the towel around his waist, removes his briefs and enters the bathroom.

The water is hot but at gentle pressure against his aching muscles. It'd been a minute since he and Sam had jogged or gone to the gym together. He kinda misses that quality time with his best friend given he's always busy. Bucky keeps him on his toes as much as Mischka and Carter do, and although it's a slight change in his usual life, he's proud of it.

To some aspect, he and Bucky are still new to each other, but it feels like they've known each other for years. That comforting spark they have with one another is stronger than they'd both like to believe. Steve wouldn't believe it if someone told him that literally the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up is Bucky, and vice versa. They've latched onto each other quicker than most, and some would say it's a coincidence, and that that they fell for each other too quick, and that's because they've both been lonely for so long. Little do they both know that they need each other. Bucky doesn't know _how badly _he truly needs Steve more than he wants him every time he wakes up with literally that blond boy scout on his mind. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he's in love with the guy. Steve would too, but how can there be love when they still struggle to even trust one another properly. It's no elephant in the room that Steve has mixed feelings about giving his whole heart to Bucky, but of course, Bucky senses it. He can't blame him, and he doesn't wanna feel dumb for letting go so quick to Steve when he could end up being just like his last few relationships.

They feel so comfortable, yet _so unsure_. Did that make sense?

Steve sighs and lets some water get into his mouth. He's been standing here for five minutes and hasn't even began to wash himself. He'd ask Bucky to join him, but they'd never get to the show.

Steve would break every one of his rules for Bucky. From the fucking moment he saw him, he knew he was fucked. He still is. That's why he's got a rock hard, throbbing erection wrapped snugly around five fast fingers, pumping as quick as possible so it's not blatantly obvious. He's already struggling to keep his moans under his breath.

"Fuck," he murmurs into the tile of the shower wall, and water does an awkward flow in and out of his mouth with each pant. "_Fucking shit._"

He has no clue as to why he'd ever deprived himself of this. Regardless of what someone in the past had done to him, he shouldn't have let them steal such a precious part of himself away, so he strokes harder. "_Take my cock, baby,_" he utters, eyes fixated on the drain with the steaming water swirls downward. He wishes he could look away, but every part of him's frozen in place besides his wrist pumping himself.

"Fuck," he repeats, pumping harder and getting a lazy grip on the soap dish to balance himself. With each stroke, those fleeting sensations of ecstasy that course through his body intensify, and all he can see is his beautiful Bucky clinging to him within an explosion of fireworks and sparkles.

Steve cries out, finally shutting his eyes and riding out the euphoria of his orgasm while stars dance behind his eyelids. He white knuckles the soap dish, making his shampoo and conditioner bottles topple over and creating loud bangs against the tub floor. He winces at the mixture of his release along with the water and waits for every trace to disappear before lathering up his loofa with body wash. He washes fairly quickly, but thoroughly, before washing his hair and letting the conditioner settle in for a few moments. As Steve is rinsing himself, more water flows into and out of his mouth.

"Ah, there's my golden boy smelling so fresh and clean," Bucky teases as Steve dries himself off with a hand towel while the full body towel stays hung snugly around his narrow hips. Before Steve can even retaliate, Bucky's teasing tone dies out as his grey eyes trail up and down Steve's wet body, glistening against the bedroom light.

Bucky really wouldn't know where to start if Steve let him just have at it with his body. Everything about Steve was what Bucky needed. He wanted him so badly - everything from those broad shoulders, the defined crevices of his abdomen, his Adonis belt, his bear choking thighs...

He _wants_ Steve. He'd always want Steve. As long as he's giving him that unintentional dangerous look in those hooded and blue eyes, he'd want him. He'd never met a soul like Steve, and it frustrates him how not only how perfect the guy is as a person, but shit, he's hot too. That wasn't fair.

Steve smirks. "See something you like?"

Bucky nods. "Just get dressed." He leaves to accompany Mischka and Carter in the living room while Steve puts on his jeans, polo, and sweatshirt. He sprays himself with him and Bucky's favorite cologne before putting his keys, wallet, and cell phone in his pocket. The three of them cruise over to the 107th in Clint's car - a short term borrow since eventually they had to return the move in truck and Bucky hadn't gotten a new car since returning to Brooklyn - and make it there an hour before showtime along with the rest of the band members.

"_Jamsie_!" One of them, a heavy set one with a ridiculous mustache greets Bucky the moment they enter the half empty bar. He wraps the young man in a hug and switches his attention to Mischka when she innocently pokes his legs.

"And how's my favorite ballerina?" He asks her, kneeling to her level while the other band members come from backstage to greet Bucky. Steve doesn't even wait to hear her answer before the other members of the Howling Commandos begin to tease and poke fun at a blushing Bucky who hadn't let go of Steve's hand yet. Steve can feel his palm getting sweaty from embarrassment, and he goes to drop his hand to relieve some tension, but Bucky only holds it tighter.

"So," a dark haired one says. "_You_ must be this Steve kid that our Bucky has been going on and on and writing songs about."

Bucky really tries to play it cool and clear his throat loud enough to muffle the last part of the man's sentence. Instead of letting the man elaborate, Bucky taps his chest with the hand that's not strangling Steve's.

"Steve, this is Jim Morita - our bass guitarist," he introduces them politely, fully ignoring the heart eyes that Jim and the rest of them were flashing between he abs Steve. He taps the chest of each man, introducing each with confidence. "This is Fallsworth, our pianist when my hand is broken," Bucky jokes gesturing towards a skinnier man with a mustache as heavy as the one talking to Mischka who Bucky tells him is Dugan or as the rest of the 107th know him, Dum Dum. He introduces Dernier as well, their drummer.

"Nice to finally meet all of you," Steve replies, giving them all a shy wave.

"You don't have to lie - these guys are assholes," Bucky mumbles when he nuzzles his face into Steve's neck securely. Steve chuckles, and Dum Dum meets him eye to eyes with Mischka on his hip.

"Nice to finally meet you, too!" He cheers and begins to walk towards Mischka's usual booth in the back with Steve and Bucky following as the other band members disappear backstage. "'M not exaggerating when I tell ya Jamsie here literally cannot shut up about you."

"Oh, really?" Steve sarcastically asks, squeezing Bucky's hand harder when he tries to retract it.

"Yes, sirree," he nods and Mischka hops into the booth and immediately gets comfortable. "We gotta song tonight just for you."

"Yeah?" He says, shooting a genuinely shocked looked at this news to Bucky who idly pretends not to hear either of them and directs his attention to Mischka.

"Whaddyou say, sweet pea? Want an apple juice?" He asks her and she nods rapidly as she gets her coloring books and pencils from her book bag. "I'll be back," Bucky mumbles and shuffles off towards the bar, leaving the three of them behind.

Dum Dum pats Steve's shoulder and shakes his head. "Don't let his shyness deter you, lad," he whispers to Steve lowly. "It just means he likes you." Dum Dum faces Mischka now and gives her a kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you after the show, little one," he tells her and she nods happily, her ponytail bouncing around as she does.

"OK, Uncle Dum Dum!" She says and returns to her coloring. Steve waves to Dum Dum as he tips his stylish bowler hat in his direction. When Steve slides into the booth, Mischka pushes a blank coloring page to him and gestures towards her color pencils without a word as a silent invitation. He takes her up on her offer and begins to color in a picture of Dora the Explorer, unable to stop his professional artist ways by staying within the lines of the drawing.

"He's right, y'know," she speaks up as soon as they've finished their first drawing. "My Uncle Dum Dum."

"About?" Steve asks, flipping the page over to begin the other drawing.

"About my dad liking you."

"I've been knowing your dad likes me for a while now."

Her green eyes flutter and look directly through Steve's soul. "My Daddy doesn't write song about just _anyone._ He _really_ likes you. I think more than he liked my Mommy - "

"_Don't_ say that," Steve interrupts, stopping his coloring to give her a harsh look, expressing his discomfort. That's honestly the _last_ thing he wanted to hear. He already feels like he's intruding on the little pack Natasha left behind, and being compared to her legacy wasn't something that soothes his soul. Her certainly didn't wanna take her place, and he damn well didn't wanna be accused of holding more than he was worth in Bucky's affections, especially if it was more than Natasha. He's not Natasha - he never will be. He doesn't aim to be, but involving himself with Bucky and his daughter would peg him as such anyway.

She continues to color in the drawing. "It's true. He talks about you more than her. He _never_ talks about her, actually."

"That doesn't mean anything," he protests, and she just rolls her eyes downward. "That doesn't_ bother_ you? That he doesn't talk about her?"

Her tiny shoulders shrug. "I don't really remember her. It's kinda like he'd been talking about a stranger."

"Your dad's all you ever known, huh?"

She nods. "Him, Uncle Clint, Uncle Dum Dum, Uncle Jim, Uncle James, Uncle Gabe," she lists them all out and nods her head to him. "And you. Uncle Stevie."

Steve considers that an honor. He also finds it interesting that she doesn't have any female figures in her life that hold as much relevance as her Uncles and Bucky. And by interesting, he finds it faulty. He doubts that being around so many men will poison the young girl, but he certainly didn't wanna be the one to explain what a menstrual cycle is when the time came. No wonder she's such a tough cookie.

It only dawns on him how unneeded he is in her's and Bucky's life. They _needed_ Natasha.

He swallows hard. He'd probably grill her down further about how the lack of a female figure has impacted her life, but Bucky comes striding over with an apple juice carton in one hand and two beer bottle in the other.

"Hopefully not too much shit talking occurred while I was away," he starts and leans on the edge of the booth table. "Here, brat," he says and tosses Mischka the carton which she catches effortlessly. "I got you a beer, babe," he tells Steve, opening the bottle with his teeth then handing Steve his drink.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Bucky grins broadly and appreciatively at Steve before kissing Mischka on the head then Steve on his lips. "Well, I've gotta go set up in the back now. Show's starting in a few. You guys gonna be okay?"

"Me and Stevie will be fine," the little girl insists and switches her green pencil for a red one. "We'll be here and cheering for you."

"Is that right? Alright, kiddo. Cheer loud enough and we just might get ice cream after the show. Sound good?"

"Mhm," she mumbles and gives him a thumbs up. The bell above the front door jingles and a loud uproar of excited customers follows, filling the bar up almost fully. Show time's soon.

"Well, I gotta jet," Bucky says hurriedly as soon as the rowdy crowd takes their seats and readies for the show with drinks and snacks from the bar. He barely gets a foot away before Steve has his glove in his grip and pulls Bucky backwards and down to his levels so his whispers can be heard.

"Do you really have a song in the set for me?" He asks cautiously, trying his best to sound anything but too confident despite how honored he feels.

Bucky rolls his eyes and smacks his moisturized lips. He doesn't outright answer but instead kisses Steve's lips again before shaking himself loose of Steve's hold. "You'll like it," he assures and gives a sly wink and a smirk over his shoulder before disappearing in the crowd and backstage.

"See?" Mischka says. "He's nervous. He likes you."

"So, he _did_ write me a song?" The smile on his face doesn't fade as hard as he's trying to make it.

"Don't feel too good," she warns playfully and switches from red to blue. "The thrill wears off."

The show begins shortly after Mischka finishes her first apple juice, and Steve gets hers another. The lights only get so dim before the audience is cheering and the announcer - Uncle Gabe, apparently - takes the stage to introduce The Howling Commandos. Steve and Mischka whistles and scream as loud as they can as soon as Bucky in all his rock star glory and the other Commandos take their positions beside their instruments. With his favorite guitar slung over his torso, Bucky takes hold of the mic and seg ways into the first song in their set and one of Steve's - "Home."

Of course it gets the same glorious unified response as last time and anytime before. Naturally, Steve feels welcome and closer to Mischka's and Bucky's hearts when he sings along with ease.

The Howling Commandos run through a good four songs to calm down the crowd, getting satisfied responses for every one. Steve listens closely and bobs his head to the music all the while coloring and playing card games with Mischka. He's pretty lost in a game of poker, but the sudden clapping and cheering breaks him out, and his eyes are glued to Bucky.

"So," he begins, clearing his throat and adjusting his guitar as he does. "This next song is one of our newer pieces. It's a little something I wrote myself about someone I _love _-" he says and stops himself, eyes wide and scared but jaw tight. He swallows and strums idle notes on his guitar.

Steve can detect how shaky he is. He knew he'd be nervous premiering a new song - he really just wanted to run up on stage and smooth out his nerves with a hug and kiss. It already had to be nerve wracking to show off such a side of himself in front of all these people, but to experiment with new material as well? He had to be on the edge of a break down. Steve doesn't miss a single fidget even when Bucky steadies himself and breathes through his nose.

"Well, I_ used_ to love this person. I _don't_ anymore and the experience was such a long while ago that the person it's about is completely irrelevant in my life. This person _ruined_ love for me, but I wrote a helluva song out of it. This is called "I Can't Make You Love Me," Bucky finishes and everyone applauds as he flicks his gloved hand behind him to cue the drums. The cymbals begin softly and fade to a soft patter of beats as the piano kicks in. It's meant to be a slow song, so the lights dim and zero in on Bucky as he places the guitar in the stand.

He returns to the microphone, grips in in both hands and taps his foot rhythmically to count himself in.

_"Turn down the lights...turn down the bed. __Turn down these voices inside my head..."_

_"Lay down with me...tell me no lies... Just hold me close, don't patronize...Don't patronize me..."_

Bucky backs away from the mic to inhale strategically without using his mouth and nose noticeably. He's a performer insider and out. He's got on that pained, nearly scared persona that Steve's always so turned on by. That need to cuddle him and make sure he's okay only increases when he huff and steps back up to the microphone with a stagger in his perfect posture and closed, watering eyes.

_"'Cause I can't make you love me if you don't...You can't make your heart feel something it won't..."_

The rest of the band harmonizes to match Bucky's pitch nearly perfectly all the while swaying in tune to the slow flow of the song. The crowd is quieter than usual, making it easier for Steve to block them out and imagine it's just him and Bucky in the room.

_"Here in the dark, in these final hours, __I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power...But you won't, no you won't..._

_"'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don't..."_

The piano continues over the sweet humming Bucky mumbles over in the microphone. His pitch sounds lower than usual as though he were sad to even be here. Steve wishes he'd open his eyes so they'd make eye contact, and he can at least look at him and remind him it's okay that he's nervous.

_"I'll close my eyes, then I won't see... The love you don't feel when you're holding me..._

_"Morning will come and I'll do what's right... __Just give me till then to give up this fight...And I will give up this fight!"_

That note rings out louder and longer than any of the others, making everyone's skin form goosebumps and the sheer divinity of Bucky's voice. His posture straightens, and he finally opens his eyes, releasing a lone tear to trickle down his cheek and off his chin. He doesn't bother to wipe it - Instead he let's it fall as does another and another and another till his face is red and his breathing is shaky and stressed. The piano still doesn't stop and neither do the drums. A wet sound echoes over the microphone when he opens his mouth to continue onto the chorus.

_"'Cause I can't make you love me if you don't...You can't make your heart feel something it won't..._

_"Here in the dark, in these final hours, __I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power...But you won't, no you won't..."_

_"'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don't..."_

He holds each final note longer than Steve had heard when he first played it for him. Steve nods in admiration, and it's nearly in slow motion how Bucky composes himself enough to sing some solitary notes over the back up harmonizing behind him. He closes his eyes again and more tears falls one after the other, almost beautifully.

The piano solo lasts another two graceful minutes before the cymbals end the song just as they had started it. The crowd is on their feet, cheering the band's name is adoration while Steve and Mischka sit there in their own silent bubble awaiting for a smile or a nod or something to disrupt Bucky's still nature. He doesn't move for another moment, and when he does finally, he bows and blows kisses and wipes his face of tears apologetically with a shy smile. Steve unfreezes himself and claps along with the bar because sad or not, that was a great performance. Bucky hadn't really gotten _that_ emotional when he played it for Steve at home.

Mischka begins to clap as well. She looks more worried than usual, so Steve puts a safe arm around her and brings her closer to his chest. Eventually, her tiny body is completely propped in his lap with her little face snuggling into his armpit.

The set continues as lively and active as it usually would be, and everyone's spirits were lifted automatically except for Steve and Mischka who still seem particularly flustered about the performance. Steve would say he's downright upset, but he couldn't be sure over what. It couldn't have been the song itself - he'd heard it many times before and _never_ felt offended over Bucky writing a song to his ex.

It's uncertain as to _why_ Mischka is feeling the way she is. Maybe just seeing her dad cry triggered her, and she felt as though his pain is hers. They are pretty close, so it's not unexpected she'd feel so compelled to cry when he cries. She's pretty silent the duration of the show and even when he and the band end their show and say goodnight.

They're casually coloring another drawing in silence when Bucky approaches the table with a thin smile. "Hey, babe," he greets Steve with a peck on the lips and slides into the opposite side of booth towards his daughter.

"Hey, baby girl," he says, pecking her head. She barely looks up at him before making a weak sound and continuing her drawing. The lack of excitement and affection alarms Bucky, so he turns to Steve and mouth, _"What's wrong with her?"_

Steve wants to shrug as though he doesn't know, but twirls his eyes about in a sad, puppy dog - like motion and nods in the direction of the stage. It clicks in Bucky's head soon enough, and he's sympathetically wrapping his arms around his daughter, catching her off guard when he lifts her into his lap.

"Did you like Daddy's set?" he asks carefully. Her face remains stone cold, but a few seconds later, she's crumbling into him, her face twisting to stop tears she can't help. It breaks Steve's heart in the most bittersweet of ways because no one likes seeing a kid cry, but it's relieving to know that a kid like Mischka is capable of crying. The sight of it shocks the life out of Steve; he'd seen this girl fall off of bikes and couches and even from practicing her ballet moves with cuts and scars left behind, yet she never shed a tear.

But here she is, tears flowing like a stream down her delicate and quivering face. She'd fought such a strong urge to hold it all in and keep everything together for lack of embarrassing herself, but Bucky had her absolutely melting without even trying. She's crumbling in his embrace with broken, sad mewls escaping her, making Bucky tightens his arms around his little girl and bring his lips to her ear.

"What's wrong, sweetie? Hmm?"

She struggles to respond and continues crying like someone kicked her for another minute before Bucky realizes that she's not calming down anytime soon. He holds her close to him, stands from the booth, and rewards Steve with the most sympathetic and sorry look he's ever given him.

"I'm gonna take her outside so she can get herself together, alright?" He explains, rocking his daughter like a baby in his arms as she holds to his torso for dear life. Steve just nods and returns the distressed look with a half smile.

"Take your time," he affirms, picking up a colored pencil to distract himself from breaking down to tears himself at the sight of Mischka's agony. Heaven's knows that he wants to comfort as much as he can, but this was something to be solved between father and daughter. He watches the two leave the bar and bites his lips hard as hell to stop from yelling out Mischka's name. Probably about ten minutes pass by before Steve even thinks to look up and Dum Dum is sitting across from him, scrolling on his phone. Surprised at his presence, Steve only jumps half an inch in the air and gasps.

"Scare you?"

"Nah, I just didn't see you sitting there," Steve says. Dum Dum rings out a hearty guffaw of laughter.

"I scared ya," he mutters to himself and sighs. "Where'r the two of them?" He asks, motion towards the empty booth and scatted colored pencils.

Steve jerks his thumb toward the door. "Bucky took her outside. She got a little upset over something. Poor thing was crying."

Dum Dum eyes Steve like he doesn't believe him, and Steve doesn't blame him. If anyone told him Mischka of all people were crying, he'd never believe it either.

"Yeah, I know right?" Steve agrees although he hadn't responded yet because his facial expressions says it all. "Guess the song must've gotten her in her feelings."

The other man with the silly mustache nods at that and puts his phone into his pocket. "She ain't the only one. The fellas and myself were a bit taken back when Bucky played it for us the first time."

"I was, too," Steve admits. "In case you were thinking, that song's _not_ about me."

"Figured that after we performed it," Dum Dum sheepishly shrugs and flashes a quick glance his way, expressing how sorry he is for assuming it was about Steve and getting his hopes up.

"Can't say you know who it is about, could you? He didn't really tell me."

Dum Dum sighs sadly and shakes his head at whatever. "Knowing Bucky, it could be_ anybody._"

That strikes Steve attention, so he pursues the conversation for elaboration. "How do you figure?"

"Jamsie ain't the most lucky in love person. I've known the bastard a good portion of his life, and it's pathetically heartbreaking how much he's been through."

Even though only having known Bucky a month and some weeks, he could very easily below everything Dum Dum is saying. Everything in Bucky's mannerisms and demeanor exude that the man's been hurt before. He can't explain why - call it Captain's intuition. Steve doesn't know the severity of Bucky's pain, and he'd love to more than anything so he knows not to repeat past lover's mistakes. Bucky's fragile, that much is obvious, but_ why_? Steve could guess all he wants, but no answer seems to match. Bucky clings to Steve like he's been abandoned, so _that much_ can be inferred. But there had to be more, right? Or maybe Bucky is just an affectionate person...

"He doesn't really talk about his exes," Steve tells Dum Dum with a bitter tone. "I'd never force him, too ,'cus I don't either, but sometimes I just wonder. Y'know?"

"Wonder what?"

"Why he is how he is. Like, I'd just like to know who made him so..._so_..." Steve twists his mouth about in a physical attempt to find the appropriate word. Dum Dum saves him by just nodding in understanding when Steve's brain is blank.

"I get you, lad," he says wishfully. "Bucky's a good person and deserves good things. Him and the little one do."

"Don't I know it," Steve huffs. They wouldn't even behaving this conversation if Natasha were in the picture.

"He deserves a nice person like you 'cus quite frankly, I'm sick and tired of writing and performing sad songs," Dum Dum chuckles then nods his head toward forward Steve.

"Hopefully with _you_ around, we'll get some cheery shit to play."

"Hopefully," he repeats. "I'm betting on that."

"You're a good person, Rogers. I can tell."

"Oh?"

"Jamsie hasn't been as happy as he's been now since he met you. Pretty sure you hear this quite frequently, but he likes you. Probably more than I like my own wife," he jokes and laughs dryly at his joke.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, big time. Whatever you're doing to him, keep doing it. It's good he's like this. Keep him happy,_ please_."

The way he phrases it makes it out to be such a huge responsibility when in all actuality, Steve could spend his whole life keeping Bucky happy with no added effort. It'd be his life mission.

"I'll do my best," Steve promises to more himself than Dum Dum. He knows he could never hurt Bucky. It'd kill him if Bucky endured what he had on stage tonight at Steve's hands.

He'd do any and everything in his power to be the best rendition of Natasha he could be. It sounds shitty to say, but it's God's honest truth. Bucky and Mischka need Natasha, but Steve would do his best to be a fraction of what she was even if it'll end up driving him crazy. He cares just that much.

Before Dum Dum can say anything else, Bucky reenters the bar with Mischka on his hip, with her face clear of wet tears but red as ever and puffy eyed.

"Aw, angel, what's the matter?" Dum Dum asks her sweetly when Bucky sets her down at the booth. She shakes her head, sniffles and slide into the booth to be snuggled into Dum Dum's arms.

"I'm fine now," she insists, voice back to normal volume with only little congested. "I swear."

"You promise?" Steve has to make sure or else it'll keep him up all night. The little girl nods honestly and sniffles one or two more times before flashing that heart-melting smile that could make any man fall right in love. Steve grins back and scoots over to let Bucky into the booth.

"Are you okay?" he asks him as he gets comfortable.

Bucky nods. "I didn't mean to get all emotional up there."

"It's okay. It's a pretty emotional piece."

That's another thing that sets alarms off in Steve head. Bucky apologizes more than usual for expressing his emotions especially if they're sad ones, and maybe that's a normal thing for him, but it's odd as hell for Steve. _Why_ does he apologize? There's really no need to feel sorry for emoting.

The remainder of the night at the 107th is spent cheerfully with Mischka and Bucky's meltdowns long forgotten and washed out with drinking games, cards, karaoke, and pool. All in all the night is a success, and Steve takes a genuine liking to the Howling Commandos as more than a band but as people. Dum Dum is the funny one while Dernier and Morita stay along the serious side. Fallsworth seems like a good person as does Gabe. In fact, _something_ about Gabe reminds Steve of something or another. He's not sure if he's comfortable about it, and he can't exactly pin point what it is, but he doesn't let it bother him as he shoots back shots and sings terribly to various rock songs.

Their night lasts till ten o'clock. At the first sight of Mischka yawning, Bucky decides it's time for them to go home. After saying goodbye to his new friends, Steve follows Bucky out the door of the 107th and climbs into the passenger's seat while Bucky assists his drowsy daughter into the backseat.

"Long night, huh?" he joshes, poking the little one on her rosy cheeks. She tries to reply, but all that comes out is a tired whimper. Bucky smiles to himself as he turns the key in the ignition.

"Baby girl's all tuckered out."

"Yeah," Steve agrees and reclines his chair enough to stretch his legs out. They jam their way into Manhattan's busy streets within a minute of pulling out of the parking spot.

"What about you? Is the old man tired yet?"

"No, he's not actually. What'd you have in mind?"

"Kinda feel like watching _Titanic_, if that's alright with you."

"_Titanic?_ Of all movies? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get me in the mood."

"That's where you're wrong. I don't have to try."

The trio are back in Brooklyn by the hour's end. Mischka is completely knocked out and doesn't even budge when Bucky tries to wake her up to go inside the apartment. He ends up carrying her, and the two men momentarily go their separate ways - Steve to tend to Carter with a walk and Bucky to put Mischka to bed - before meeting up at eleven - fifteen at Bucky's apartment for a night cap. As planned, they're sitting on the couch, tangling around each other in sweatpants and pajamas with a bowl of popcorn and_ Titanic_ playing on Bucky's flat screen. They make it till Rose is distractedly trying to jump off the boat in an attempt of suicide before Bucky speaks up first.

"'Member when I told you I loved Leonardo DiCaprio in high school?"

"Yeah," he answers as he throws a popcorn in the air and catches it in his mouth. "What of it?" he asks between chews.

"I have a bit of an embarrassing story about that," Bucky mumbles shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, it's not much a story actually."

"Tell me." Steve throws another popcorn but it ends up landing on his chest. He eats it anyway.

"Um, this was a little bit before I knew I was a raging, flaming homosexual, and I was still exploring some shit," he starts out factually, eyes still on the TV. "I was in gym class and we were practicing defense for, like, basketball or something. I don't know. I guess I kinda brushed up against one of the other boys in my class the wrong way - well in my case, _the right way_ \- and my body couldn't handle this shit, so picture fourteen year old me trying to figure out _what_ to do with this sudden boner in my gym shorts."

"Oh, Jesus," Steve groans, tittering under his breath. He'd full on laugh till he's in tears if he didn't think the same thing could've happen to him. It hadn't and he's grateful it hadn't, but it doesn't lessen the second hand embarrassment.

"Yeah, it gets kinda worse, _um…_" He trails off to begin chuckling to himself and eats some more popcorn before continuing. "So, here I am, _hard_ as fuck, rushing over to my gym teacher, begging to go to the bathroom cus 'I have to pee,'" he says the last part dramatically with air quotes, "and he lets me. I didn't know what the fuck I was going to do when he did, but I rushed to the bathroom and locked myself in the stall, trying to figure out _what the fuck_ to do."

"What's this gotta do with Leonar-"

"I'm getting to it," he interrupts, flailing his hand upward to cover Steve's mouth. "Anyway, I think I stood in the stall for a good thirty seconds before I got the genius idea to jerk off. And because I was a little mortified that I'd gotten hard from another guy, I tried some shit out. One of the football jocks had brought a Playboy to show off that day, so I took it from his locker and literally wanted to cry when I felt _nothing_ from seeing these naked women. In fact, my boner began to flag a bit, which is what I wanted, but I had to be sure of something."

"If you liked boys?"

"Precisely," he confirms, eating more popcorn. "So, nothing's happening, and I'm scared to death. I cry a little," he chuckles at that, "and end up putting the magazine back. I'm scared and searching for something to arouse me, and I was so desperate that I actually snuck into the girl's locker room -"

"Oh, Bucky, tell me you didn't."

"I found one of those teen magazines for girls -"

"Oh, Bucky," Steve shakes his head in mock disappointment, covering his face to shield his blushing.

"And I went into the girls bathroom stall and found this picture of none other than Mr. Leo himself and went at it," Bucky does the quick jacking off motion before pressing his hands to his temples in excitement. "Oh, God! It felt so fucking good! I was having the time of my prepubescent life just picturing this actor who I'd never met just all over me, and I probably lasted a minute and thirty seconds before I came all in the poor girl's magazine."

"You're _nasty_!" Steve doesn't even try to hide his mocking laughter now. Bucky joins him and playfully hits his shoulder.

"Hey, can you blame me? Anyway, as I came down from my high, I noticed that someone was waiting just outside the stall, and I really considered drowning myself in the toilet bowl," his laughter dies out in short, labored, breathless chuckles. "Turns out it was the assistant softball coach coming back from her lunch break, and she'd heard me. Basically she felt bad when I told her what'd happened and let me off with a stern lecture and replacing the girl's magazine. Yeah, so that how I came out…_kinda_. She was the only person I'd told. Not even Nat or Clint knew."

"Damn," Steve says.

"Yeah. I always appreciated her for keeping my secret. I didn't come out to my parents for another year after that."

Out of curiosity, Steve quirks a brow and leans forward to face Bucky. _"How_ did you come out to your parents?"

"It's kinda ridiculous."

"Not more ridiculous than what you just told me."

"You tell me first."

Steve scrambles his brain for that memory. It's a happy one, he remembers. It hadn't been some tragedy like most people would suspect because Steve's mama, Sarah was the most understanding and considerate angel to ever grace the Earth. Bucky and Mischka would've loved her as much as Steve did.

"I asked Sam what to do, actually. I was probably fifteen," he remembers and nods as he recalls what happened like it was yesterday. "He had a sense of humor about it, but I was a nervous wreck."

"Anybody would be," Bucky sympathizes. He's no longer paying any mind to the movie and all his attention is on Steve.

"It was the day before I was supposed to go to this overnight summer camp, and Sam helped me bake this cake," he says. "In icing, the cake read _'I'm bisexual,'_ with rainbow sprinkles and shit. Sam and I planned it out perfectly. He pretended to have brought the cake over for my going away party, but I told my parents the truth. I thought they'd be mad, but my dad thought it was a hoot," he recalls.

"And your ma?"

"She was a little stunned. Dad said he'd suspected it when he noticed I didn't bring a lot of girls home."

"That's a lot more accepting than how my parents took my coming out," he scoffs humorlessly. "My parents were going through a tough time in their relationship, and Dad had died before I could ever tell him, but I came out to my mother and step dad instead."

"And?"

"Took Mom a while to adjust. Eventually she stopped being so damn mad at me for keeping such a huge secret private. I didn't mean to, but it did feel relieving to know that she knew and accepts me."

"And your step dad?"

Bucky goes silent at that. There's no trace of humor on his face as he turns back to the television as though Steve hadn't even spoken. The blond feels him clench and tense against him at the mention of his step dad, which sets off alarms and red flags in his head. He didn't wanna force the conversation, but maybe it was a clue alluding to why Bucky is how he is.

Steve's never one to push, but before the relationship could progress, they had to have that foundation of trust. Secrecy wasn't an option nor is insecurity. Bucky had to know Steve well enough to know that he wasn't gonna judge him for anything of his past. If he doesn't by now, then he had to prove if somehow to avoid conflict like this.

"Baby," Steve starts but is quickly cut off.

"I really don't know _what_ to say, Stevie, alright?" He's immediately defensive. "What does it matter what he thought?"

"It was just a question. I didn't mean to bring anything up."

"Who says you did?"

"Well, no one did, but seeing as though you've got your guard up-"

"It's_ nothing_, Steve. He just wasn't nice to me, alright?"

"Homophobic?"

Bucky growls and settles deeper into Steve's lap, dead set and stubborn to not furthering the conversation. That didn't deter Steve because he's more than patient when it comes to Bucky. He rustles him a bit closer to his chest, bringing his soft lips to the shell of Bucky's ear, bringing his voice to an encouraging whisper.

"Baby, whatever it is, you can tell me," he assures the brunet, rubbing his hands lovingly over every crevice he can reach on this man's body. Bucky shivers and nudges in closer to Steve, trusting him physically, but still hesitant in speaking.

"If I tell you, you're gonna hate me."

"_Don't_ say that."

"You might, Steve. You really might."

"Try me."

Bucky pulls his lips inward to grimace up at Steve not because of his persistence necessarily but because of the indecision between telling him and not telling him.

"Steve, I just found you. I can't lose you over something like this. It's a pretty shitty thing I did, and if you knew, you'd want nothing to do with me," he tells him, voice going into a whisper like Steve's. His eyes have drooped as well as those pouted lips right into the downward curve of a frown. He looks so disappointed in himself like a dog that went and ruined his owner's carpet. That shift in him breaks Steve's heart. _This_ is the Bucky that was on stage tonight. _This_ is real.

And that false belief and fear that Bucky could lose Steve over this was even more shattering. He sees such a strong, independent person in Bucky that wouldn't lose sleep over anyone, let alone Steve, and to hear him say such a thing actually hurt. He didn't wanna lose Bucky, but he didn't wanna be absolutely clueless to him and his life either. He'd rather know and put puzzle pieces together than run.

"You gotta trust me, baby," he pleads with him. "Just tell me. I might end up liking you even more after you tell me."

"I doubt it."

"Bucky, it can't be that bad."

"Stevie," he moans, burying his face in Steve's chest for some source of safety. He holds him close regardless of his growing frustration not with Bucky but with whatever happened to him. He's becoming scared for him. He needs to protect this man at all costs. Unsure from what, he squeezes him and kisses his head.

"Baby, it's alright."

"No, it's _not_," he whimpers helplessly.

"How so? Hmm?"

Bucky clings harder to Steve, unwilling to talk as well as let him go.

Neither of them are particularly positive when the change in the atmosphere occurred. All they know is that there's a click, like a light switch, in the air that makes them fall into their respective, unofficial roles. That protective instinct in Steve had been activated the second Bucky denied him of the story, and it's Steve's mission to found out what the fuck the step dad did to his precious baby boy to make him so…so…_hurt. Fragile. Untrusting._

_Was the step dad even to blame? _Steve has a strong feeling telling him he is.

There's no way in hell he'd leave tonight not knowing what that man had done to his Bucky. Yeah, he'd probably be angry about it later, but as of right now as he hold Bucky in his arms, he had to put on a brave face and just listen.

"Do you remember what you'd said to me a few nights ago? You wanting to be a good boy, right?"

"Yes."

"Yes,_ what_?"

Bucky's head pops up to take Steve in and check if he's doing what he prays he's doing. Seeing that this is longer a joking matter, he gives in and sighs contently, falling gracefully into his submissive role.

"Yes,_ sir_."

"You think you can be a good boy for me, and tell me what happened? Hmm?"

Bucky already has tears forming around his eyes. They don't fall just yet, but they might later. Obviously, this isn't a happy story.

"I can be a good boy, sir."

"Yeah? Alright. Go 'head and tell me about your step dad."

Bucky does as he's told and begins to tell Steve of his family life, starting from when he and his sister grew up without their real father - George Barnes - present due to marital problems between he and his wife, Winifred or Winnie for short. There was a bit of infidelity and abuse involved, and Bucky confides in saying he thought that's how marriage was supposed to be - fighting, yelling, hitting, cheating.

Not to be fooled, Bucky claims he had a pretty average childhood aside from his parents. He enjoyed himself most of the time until George got kinda sick and eventually died from a heart attack. It was such awful timing since Bucky had been stressing on how to reveal his sexuality, specifically to his dad because he was afraid of what his mother would say. She'd come from a religious family in the south that hooted and hollered the name of Jesus and the Bible to the high heavens and followed every verse of the Book like a guideline to everyday life. Surely, no kid would ever want to face that scrutiny alone. Becca was a little too young to help.

So, without a father figure to guide him, Bucky kept it to himself till he turned fifteen and decided it was time to face the music with his mother. George had been gone a year before she brought a new man home, Xavier. He seemed serious about her and she was serious about him. So serious that they married just weeks before the second year anniversary of George's passing. It was imaginable that Becca and Bucky resented their mother for moving on so quickly, but without a say in the matter, they'd bitten their tongues and feigned happiness for their mother and her new husband.

"It was dinnertime, I think," Bucky goes on. "'M not sure how it came up, but I just remember blurting it out. My mom thought I was kidding, but I wasn't."

"Go on," Steve encourages, on hand running aimless patterns over Bucky's scalp to comfort him while the other holds Bucky's body to Steve's.

"Um, she was a little mad when I'd told her I'd been like this for a year now. She was so upset she threw a dish at me, and Xavier had to calm her down. I expected her to call me a faggot or something but she didn't. She just locked herself in her room and came out like an hour later to hug me and assure her behavior was just 'cus she was shocked and upset I didn't tell her sooner. Didn't make much sense, but we were alright. She said she still loves me, and hopes I find someone I could be happy with.

"It was only a few nights later that, um, shit got real. It was late at night and I was tossing and turning. Couldn't fucking sleep and I guess I was pretty obnoxious about it, 'cus Xavier came in and said my mom told him to check in on me," Bucky scoffs again and shakes his head at something.

Steve just listens intently, keeping his ears open even though he's not liking where the story was headed.

"He sits at the edge of my bed, and we talk a bit about whatever's bothering me. I didn't wanna outright tell him I was having a hard time sleeping 'cus of a wet dream I'd had, but he was the only other male in the house. So, I told him and I didn't expect him to, ugh, _um…_" Bucky trails off, exhales and whimpers.

"It's okay, baby," Steve coos.

"I didn't think he'd offer to get rid of this r_aging hard on_ I had for me," his voice croaks like he'd begin crying, but Steve doesn't check for fear of losing his damn mind.

"I don't know_ what_ came over me, Stevie. He'd done some sort of manipulation, and I don't know_ why_ I was so comfortable with him all of a sudden! I didn't think I'd ever let him actually pull my pants down and suck me off till I came literally_ everywhere,_" Bucky cries with choked up laughs that hold no amusement.

The vulgarity of that statement causes both men to shiver, and Steve isn't sure he could bear hearing the rest of this without getting angry. He swears he won't picture it, but the image of a scared, immature, fifteen year old Bucky being taken advantage of sets him aflame with rage. Bucky resumes regardless of how hard he's shaking and wiping away stray tears.

"I don't fucking know why, but, I let this man I swore I hated touch me and do things to me that I knew he wasn't supposed to. I didn't stop him because it felt _so good_, so new…" He explains and shut his eyes to avoid looking at Steve.

"He, um, he took my virginity that night," he tells him, confirming Steve's worst nightmare. "It hurt so bad, but it felt so good at the same time. I came at least once or twice before I was telling him I couldn't take anymore. He understood and told me that if I wanted, we could continue what we'd had.

"Stupid, old me believed him when he told me he cared for me and wanted something special. In those moments I was with him, I completely forgotten that he's married to my mother as well as being, like, forty years older than me. But, we went on anyway. Almost every night or whenever we were alone till I was sixteen, my step dad and I would fuck each other senseless. Didn't matter when or where; we had no shame."

Bucky interprets Steve's silence as sharp listening, so he continues.

"We'd been doing it for a year when I told him I loved him," he confesses ruefully. "I thought he'd feel the same, but he yelled at me to _never_ say it again. He'd hit me a  
few time before in the duration of our relationship, and because of my parent's behavior, I thought it was acceptable. I was so dumb to believe him when he told me he'd leave my mom so that we could properly be together.

"Little did I know there ain't _shit_ proper about a fifty something year old man taking advantage of an insecure, impressionable teenager. He was so mean to me, Stevie, but I loved him. _I loved him._ I fucking loved him. I was a wreck when he'd left my mom. I begged him to take me with him, but he said no. It killed me. It killed me when he left, and it kills me now as I tell you this."

It kills Steve to hear it. "Winnie never found out?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Nah, she passes before I ever got the balls to tell her or Becca. Never heard from him again, and I cried and cried for days for him to come back. He never did, obviously, and it took a lot of energy out of me to shake myself of him."

He sniffles, but his tears have dried now. Steve face is stone, stuck in an angry expression that should convey his need for vengeance on Bucky's behalf.

"There's a slight chance that song was about Xavier tonight," Bucky says matter of factly. "Slight chance meaning _it is_."

Steve sighs and hold his baby boy tighter for fear of him dispersing from his grasp. His head nuzzles deep in the crook of Bucky's neck and he kisses chastely.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he apologizes. "I'm so sorry that happened to you. I shouldn't have-"

"Stevie, _no_," he whispers. "It's not your fault, and it's better you knew anyway. I've never told anyone that story, and I trust you won't use it against me. Feels good to have it off my chest, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Bucky nods and returns Steve's kisses. "I know I'm safe now. He can't hurt me. I know you wouldn't let him. Right, sir?"

Steve gets himself together and takes Bucky's head in his hands. He told himself to be strong for himself and for Bucky, so he will be. To be fair, he _wanted_ to know, so he's one step closer to figuring his baby boy out. It's a defining piece of the puzzle, but he feels honored to know of such a sensitive time in Bucky's life, as uncomfortable as it was to hear. It fits into why Bucky's into older guys and why he's as tentative as he is about showing emotions and affections.

Steve's not sure how, but he'd do anything in his power to shake that mindset out of Bucky. He's gonna be everything this man needs. He's sure of it. He just wants to help and protect him. He was gonna erase every false notion about love that he'd acquired in his youth. He's gonna show him real love. Faithful love; the right kind of life that involves kisses and hugs and words of encouragement and honesty.

As long as Bucky eyes twinkle that distinctive grey, Steve would forever vow his life to repairing him. He had to.

"Right, baby boy," he answers and kisses him hard on the mouth. "_Right_."


	9. 9

"Daddy, c'mon! We're gonna be late!"

"Okay, sweetheart, just gimme a -"

"_No,_ Daddy, we have to leave _now_!"

It'd been like this since this morning.

Bucky and Mischka were going back and forth, getting on each other's nerves, and Steve is the mediator. It's the day of Mischka's dance show, and she'd been urging to get to the studio to get in some last minute practice as well as having Ms. Wanda, her teacher, do her makeup for the show. However, Steve isn't as easily fooled as Bucky. He knows the only reason she wants to rush over to the studio is because Pietro's there, and she'd do anything to have Pietro see her in her makeup_, looking like such a grown up_, as she'd put it.

So, imagine how torturous it must be for her six year old heart to handle being stuck at the apartment while all the other girls in her class got to be with him until showtime.

"Daddy, you said we could leave soon," she whines childishly, something which especially out of her character. She stands bold and stubborn at his side, batting her expecting eyes at the side of his head while he tests out some keys on the piano for another song Gabe requested.

"Daddy's a little busy right now," Bucky replies, voice shaking with a restrained will to keep his wrath of frustration under wraps. Steve and Carter can sense his irritation all the way from his spot on the couch.

_Not a very patient girl, is she?_ Carter seems to say as she nudges her nose into his thigh, staring up at him with expecting eyes.

"Not at all," Steve utters to her and gets back to his drawing. There's about five minutes of quiet grumbling and careless piano playing before the storm brews up again.

"It doesn't take _this_ long to write a song," Mischka mumbles under her breath, stomping away with deliberately obnoxious, echoing steps, arms crossed and lips pouted more than they usually are, clearly understanding that she won't get her way anytime soon.

"You've never written a song, so how would _you_ know?" Bucky sasses right back over his shoulder, pressing random keys in frustation. "Quit being such a brat! We'll get there in time."

"But I wanna go _now_!" Mischka hollers from down the hallway before the echo of her slamming the bedroom door disrupts the somewhat still peace of the rest of the apartment. It makes Carter jump as well Steve. Bucky, however, sighs dramatically, and throws the pencil he was using to write with somewhere else carelessly, and pops up from the piano bench in the direction of the her bedroom. He's red faced, eyes wide, fists clenched, and thin lipped. Seeing this won't play out in anyone's favor, Steve is on his feet within seconds to stop his friend from whatever he's set on doing by hopping in his path and wrapping two strong, yet comforting arms around his waist.

Bucky resists, mumbling heated complaints into Steve's neck as he tries to break free from his grip. Steve doesn't let up even for a moment, and eventually traps Bucky's face within his hands to reduce his mobility as well as distract him in planting his lips to Bucky's. He even initiates tongue and just seconds into the kiss, Bucky's tense frame mellows out and he's returning the gesture.

"Fucking brat," he grumbles the two seconds his lips are free before Steve presses himself harder to him and takes his breath away. It's safe now, so Steve let's his hands travel to Bucky's waist chillingly all the while craning his head side to side in tune with Bucky as he does the same to meet each lick and lap that their lips massage against the others. It's heated for a second then Bucky pulls away tenderly, shaking his head and pointing at her bedroom door at the end of the hallway.

"You okay?"

"That girl's gonna put me in an early grave," he concludes, letting Steve kiss across his cheeks as well as caress his hips.

"Calm down, baby," Steve tels him, leading his kisses to Bucky's forehead. "She's just antsy. You both are."

That's no lie.

Not only is Mischka anxious as all hell to get to Pietro along with doing well in her recital, but Bucky has been just as worked up trying to finish yet another song for The Howling Commandos set. He'd been working on the song for a few weeks now, and a good portion of his frustration is taken out within private VA sessions with Sam, and getting his dick sucked with all the love and care in the world by a more than willing and helpful Steve who never asks for anything in return. Along with the song, he's been working more than he usual had when he and Steve met, which annoys them both, especially since_ certain_ aspects of their relationship were ascending faster and faster as the days they spent together rage on. There have been nights where they'll be close to reaching _that_ level of intimacy with one another and Bucky's phone'll ring and fuck up the vibe they had. Steve will do his best to shield his annoyance to not add onto the already poor nature of the interruption, but Bucky will always just swallow hard and shake his head in disappointment, too proud and afraid of sounding redundant when he bite his lip to stop an apology.

It makes Steve suspicious. He doesn't wanna assume and pry in Bucky's business yet at the same time, he feels like he's inclined to know something as simple as what the guy does for a living if he puts his cock in his mouth as often as he does.

Don't get it wrong, though - Steve _enjoys_ pleasing Bucky.

As backwards as it'll seem, Steve holds more power imaginable when he wraps those plump lips around Bucky's cock and slides effortlessly to get him where he needs to be. Even when Bucky has those hands tangled deep and harsh within Steve's scalp and fucking his face like an eager heathen, he's begging and calling Steve _'sir'_ like he's the bitch on his knees instead of Steve. Bucky knows his role despite their usual exchange - he knows submitting is the _only_ way he'll truly reach that level of ecstasy only Steve can supply him. Steve has all the control, and they both know it regardless of who sucks who off.

There's no definite reason _why_ they do this. It's a weird routine to fall into, but it's comfortable. Just like Steve likes to stay in his apartment, he likes getting on his knees and turning Bucky into a pathetic, pleading, crying excuse of a man who swears he'll die if he doesn't come quick. Without even trying, it's a part of his everyday life now.

_Wake up, walk Carter, eat, suck Bucky off, sleep._

And judging by the apprehensive glare in Bucky's eyes, he's two seconds from needing of a good cock sucking before he ends up strangling his daughter.

"I know, but can't she just, _ugh,_ I don't know -" he stammers incoherently, twisting his fingers randomly about his face to exert physical energy that he's much rather take out on a punching bag.

"Baby," Steve interrupts and kisses his lips softly this time. "Just _relax_."

"She _knows _I hate when she slams doors!"

"Lower your voice," Steve orders him sternly, remaining gentle with his movements around Bucky's waist and hips. "Calm down. She doesn't understand you're stressed, alright? Keep in mind that she's six, Bucky. She doesn't get it like I do. I know you're stressed."

Bucky nods, knowing Steve is more than right.

"Keep in mind you guys have similar professions," he continues. "She's just as much a performer as you. Cut her some slack, baby."

"I'd rather cut her hair off."

Steve pretends not to find his immaturity funny. "Bucky, you know you could handle this a bit better."

"Hmm?"

"Why is the song so important right _now_, huh? Today's _her_ big day. She just started a new school, and you know what ballet and dance means to her."

"My song's important, too," he whines childishly, crossing his arms in defense, but Steve never let's his body go.

"You have till the end of the week to finish it, and you already have half of it done. You don't think maybe taking the ten minutes to walk her down to the studio will absolutely kill you?" Steve tries to sound as smooth as possible in order to get through to Bucky. It works because Bucky's grimace melts, and he rolls his eyes at how accurate Steve's argument is. He's sheepishly putting his head down to avoid that wise stare of Steve's as he awaits an answer.

"Fucking hate when you're right," he grumbles inaudibly under his breath, loosening himself in Steve grasp to approach Mischka's bedroom door and knock.

"I usually am," he remarks, leaning on the wall to watch the resolution.

Bucky can barely mutter a snappy shut up before the door swings open, and the little ballerina is glaring up at her father like he's went and actually cut her hair.

"_What?"_ She snaps, arms crossed.

Bucky swivels his neck, cocks his head sideways and his whole body follows in a sassy lean to eye his daughter carefully and scoffs in amusement at how bold his daughter is to use such a tone, especially towards him. "Say again?" he challenges her, reclaiming that fatherly role he so quickly forgot her acquired in the heat of their exchange a few minutes ago.

She huffs and uncrosses her arms. "Yes, Daddy?" she tries, temper still flaring despite her delightful change of tone.

"Now, you know I don't like it when you yell and slam doors, right? You know loud noises scare Daddy, don't you?"

Her face softens when he says that. Steve detects minute hints of regret and actually sadness on her shifting expression.

"Yes."

"Don't you think you owe me an apology for that?"

The little girl's eyes flash to Steve who stands loyally behind Bucky. Instead of giving her that usual grin of his, he just nods forward to Bucky and instead grants her a knowing, "_go ahead and get on with it_," look. She rolls her eyes and looks back to Bucky.

"I'm sorry I yelled and slammed my door, Daddy. I won't do it again," she promises, sounding volumes lower than her usual self and probably feeling worse like a kicked puppy.

"Okay, good," Bucky says, leaning on the door's threshold. "Now it's_ my_ turn to apologize."

She looks more confused than ever. "I didn't know grown ups had to apologize, too."

"Grown ups were kids once, too," Steve tells her. "We all make mistakes. Not just kids. Right, Buck?"

"That's right," he agrees and crouches to one knee to be eye level with Mischka. "Baby girl, I'm sorry I yelled at you and called you a brat. To be fair, you were kinda being one, but I know it's 'cus you're worried about your dance show. Right?"

She nods her head and doesn't miss out on shooting Steve an evil glare when he mutters Pietro's name between a fake cough. Bucky ignores him anyway.

"I'm sorry I was so wrapped up in my song on your big day. But you gotta realize that yelling and being difficult doesn't make Daddy work faster, okay? It's good to be patient, kid," he advises her.

She nods, fully understanding.

"Do you think you could be my little angel again and get ready?"

"You'll take me to the studio?" She instantly brightens with any trace of guilt or sullenness gone.

"Of course," he says. "Go make sure you have all your stuff."

Mischka flits off and around her bedroom, cheering and gathering her ballet bag together. Bucky watches happily for a moment then gets to his feet and meets Steve's face.

"See? Didn't that work out better than yelling at her?" He says, bringing Bucky's hips toward him for a kiss.

"Yeah, yeah," he sings, half serious and rolling his eyes dramatically to avoid Steve's searching glare. Eventually, he does look at Steve and instantly cracks into an appreciative smile before meeting him halfway for a kiss.

"As much as I'd love to kiss you all damn day, we gotta get going," Steve reminds him regretfully.

"Ugh, fine,", Bucky groans, unwillingly pulling himself of Steve's grip and heading towards the front closet to grab his leather jacket. "But when we get back from dropping her off, for the love of all things holy, can you_ please_ help me finish my song?"

It wouldn't be the first time Steve's done so. "Yeah, whatever," he agrees even though all he'd really wanna do is get Bucky's pants around his ankles and suck all the tension and stress right from his body using just his tongue.

"I'm ready!" Mischka announces as she skips into the front room in her usual ballet attire, a black hoodie, furry boots, and dance bag wrapped around her torso. Bucky takes hold of Steve's hand as they exit the apartment, leaving Carter behind. The weather had gotten slightly chillier since the last time they'd taken a walk. Bucky vaguely remembers Brooklyn's October weather, he tells Steve as they keep sharp eyes out in watching Mischka skip in front of them the few blocks to the school.

When they did arrive to the school building, Mischka's greeted by an active troop of six, seven, and eight year olds in matching sparkly jackets similar to her own that immediately rush inside the building with the unneeded assistance of a middle aged dance mom who wore a name tag that reads _'Karen.'_

Bucky and Steve follow Karen and the group of girls into the school building only to be met with more ballerinas and dance moms who were all hustling and bustling around getting costumes and other miscellaneous tasks done before showtime in a few hours.

"Can I help you gentlemen today?" A lady approaches then cheerfully asks. Steve and Bucky simultaneously look at her name tag - _Robin._

"Um, I just came to drop off my daughter before the show," Bucky explains, weakly gesturing down the crowded hallway that the group of girls had went. "She wanted to get some few more hours of practice in. Get her makeup done since we don't have any of that stuff at home," he chuckles and leans into Steve who supports him by the hips.

"Ah, excellent!" Robin cheers enthusiastically, one fist in the air. "Me, too. My little Caitlin is in the show as well! I'm helping out. You know how the _little_ ones can be the _biggest_ divas."

Both men snort.

"Well, you're very welcome to stay till showtime starts, if you'd like. Excuse the bit of a mess down here. Ms. Wanda's new and was in need of a bit of assistance. First shows can be very hectic."

Robin laughs aloud and pats Bucky's shoulder in a friendly fashion before she excuses herself to helping one of the older girls with her makeup.

Bucky's eyebrows are flying to his forehead as he and Steve begin to walk down the cluttered hallway, looking in every classroom for wherever the dance studio is.

"All this for one little dance show?"

"S'not so little to Mischka," Steve replies and pokes his head into a classroom or two before finding the studio. It's set up like a traditional, stereotypical dance studio with marble floors, wall length mirrors, and barres and all the things he'd expect except one, tiny thing.

Well, it's actually not _that_ tiny._ He's_ not that tiny.

Steve can practically hear Bucky's breath being taken away at the sight of the six foot something, silver haired, blue eyed, muscle heavy brick house of a motherfucker who stood observantly next to an equally attractive female who had the same blue eyes, strong stance, chiseled, gorgeous face that held the dancers' attention as she spoke in a thick, foreign accent.

He would like to feel a little agitated at Bucky ogling Pietro that way, but he can't 'cus he feels the same heat Bucky feels flowing through his body at how unfairly attractive these people are. Steve's observing them hard enough to realize that this must be Ms. Wanda and her twin brother, Pietro.

Mischka neglected to not tell Steve how fine her permanent substitute dancer teacher is as well as undersold how devastatingly fucking hot Pietro is.

Not only did Steve suddenly wanna bang the both of them - perks of being bisexual - against a wall, but it made him self-aware of his own body as he stares at their physiques with envy.

There was a time in Steve's life when he was dedicated to going to the gym and downing protein shakes to assist his medicine in doing its job. He supposes that when he went through the troubling time he went through is when he'd lost his passion for such a hobby. It used to bother him that he doesn't anymore, but he can admit that he's slacked a bit in keeping up his body. He's not overweight by any means but obviously just jogging didn't produce a fucking six pack, and the effort he does put in when he goes to the gym with Sam wasn't consistent enough to look how Pietro does.

"_Fuck me,_" he utters way under his breath. Honestly, he can't tell if he's turned on or jealous.

"Ditto," Bucky agrees, searching the room for his daughter. She's front and center, googly eyed and all, staring up at Pietro who is nodding in agreement with whatever his sister is saying.

Steve doesn't blame her.

Ms. Wanda speaks for a few more minutes, gesturing excitedly with her hands and making the dancers laugh when they scramble to a corner of the room to do exercises across the dance floor as a warm up. A bubbly pop song begins to play over the speakers as each little ballerina takes her turns prancing and leaping across one corner of the studio to another.

Mischka waves wildly at the both of them when she leaps near the studio's entrance with the hugest smile Steve's ever seen plastered on her face. The both wave back and stare for a moment, unbelievably proud of her and her passion.

"She's a great student," an enthusiastic, European accent tells them, knocking both men from their hazes. Steve looks first and his nervous system doesn't catch up with him as fast as he'd like it to. Up close, this Pietro kid was even hotter which makes Steve gulp and Bucky to mutter obscenities under his breath.

"Um," Steve stutters, doing his very best to respond accordingly all the while tapping Bucky's leg to save him.

"The tall one? Mischka," Pietro continues, gesturing to her as she prances some more. "She's _yours_, yes?"

"Yes," Bucky finally pipes up, stepping forward with his right hand extended. "She's mine, and I can't deny it," he chuckles nervously as Pietro takes his hand forcefully and shakes. "I'm James, her father, and this," he says and squeezes Steve's shoulder, "- is my friend, Steve."

"Nice to meet you both," Pietro says politely and shakes Steve's hand next. God knows he didn't wanna let it go but eventually he did and barely got out a simple hello.

"I'm Pietro," he introduces himself in that untraceable and thick accent that sounded like how honey tasted. "My sister, Wanda, teaches the class temporarily till the other instructor gets back."

_Ah, yes. Your fine ass sister,_ Steve thinks to himself, using all his might not to let his eyes wonder to the dance teacher not matter how attractive she looks in yoga pants and a half top.

"Oh, yeah," Bucky says matter of factly. "How's that working out?"

"Not too bad," he laughs a little and eyes Bucky then Steve. "I'm having bit of fun. I take it you will be at the show tonight?"

"Yeah, we will," Steve finally finds his voice. "Mischka tells us you'll be featuring?"

"I am actually, but it's a tiny part. Wanda would be damned if I had more than thirty seconds of stage time," he jokes and like clockwork, his sister strolls over with a languid grace and leans against Pietro's shoulder.

"That's because he dances like a tree trunk," she jokes and bumps his hips with hers before directing her attention to Steve and Bucky. "You're James, right? Mischka's father. I recognize you."

"Yeah, that's me," he agrees and gestures to Steve. "And this is -"

"Steve," she interjects and grins at him. "I know. Mischka talks about you all the time during class."

Shocked, Steve's eyebrows fly upward as he side eyes the little one. She's idly doing pirouettes with her eyes glued to Pietro as though he'd disappear if she glanced away for a second.

"I'll believe it. He's all she talks about at home, too," Bucky adds, blushing ten shades of red when Steve shoots him an unbelieving glance.

"Well, I'm Ms. Wanda, the temporary sub," she introduces herself. "You've clearly already met Pietro. Hope he hasn't bored you guys with his track and field records yet."

Pietro rolls his icy blue eyes now. "Ignore her. She's jealous that all she can do is dance and practice witch craft."

Wanda returns the eye rolling gesture and pinches his shoulder. "You're very welcome to stay until show time," she tells them, smiling sweetly with twinkling, innocent eyes. "I'm gonna get them ready, if that's okay with you all," she says and begins to walk towards the dancers, still smiling and then says, "It was very nice meeting you both!"

"Same to you," Bucky says and turns right back to Pietro while Steve struggles to tear his eyes away from her profound ass cheeks in those yoga pants. Jesus, she was probably _stronger_ than him.

"If you don't mind, I'll be joining her. Truth be told, I could use some more practice as well," Pietro utters regretfully and rubs the back of his neck. "It was nice finally meeting you all, though. I think you'll really enjoy tonight's show, yeah?"

"We hope so," Bucky agrees and doesn't even try hiding this wandering eyes as Pietro shakes both of their hands again and joins his sister in helping the ballerinas. Bucky and Steve are rooted to their spots in the studio for a moment till Mischka waves goodbye this time. Bucky's knocked out of the trance first and has Steve's hand in his as they exit the school and back onto the Brooklyn streets.

They wait till they're a good block or two away before speaking.

"So, I guess you saw how fine that dance teacher was, huh?" Steve asks pensively, biting his lip hard to stop from groaning just at the mere thought of those two.

"The_ dance teacher_? Steve, did you see her _brother_? Jesus, he could punch me in the face and I'd _thank_ him," Bucky laughs and pulls Steve along to press his lips to his cheek. "He was cute."

"Cute doesn't cover it. We should start working out some more."

A humorous scoff escapes Bucky. "Like you need to get any bigger. Get any hotter and someone might steal you from me," he teases and kisses his cheek again. "How big you suppose his dick is?"

They stop at a busy crosswalk, and Steve cocks his head sideways and eyes upward in thought. "Ugh," he groans, estimating a fair size. The crowd begins to move across the street when Steve thinks of something.

"Eh, he's a pretty girth-y guy, so probably like eight inches."

"Wishful thinking," Bucky comments as they approach closer to their apartment building.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Six," he answer without hesitation, not letting go of Steve's hand as they climb the stairs to their hallway.

"Six?"

"Trust me," he smirks and opens his door up and tosses the keys to the front table once they're both in.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm one hundred percent, flaming, homo _as fuck_ whereas you are simply halfway homo, Stevie. Just trust me. I know these things," he jokes and sits right back at the piano, pencil in hand. "Now come help me."

Steve stride over to the piano bench and plops next to Bucky, studying his friend hard before he says anything.

"What?" Bucky grunts not looking away from the black and white keys under his fast yet unsure fingers.

"Tell me something, Mr. Flaming Homo as Fuck," Steve begins, but Bucky's shy smirk cuts him off.

"I don't know why Natasha was an exception," he answers expectingly with a shrug. "She was special, I guess."

"Obviously."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not bi, though," he nods, thinks for a moment, and nods again this time with more conviction. "Nah, I'm _sure as fuck_ I'm not bi. Nat was a different story. I don't know what is was about her that made her the exception, but it was just there, ya know?" Bucky struggles to explain fully, fingers never stopping even when they hit a sour key. Eventually the melody picks back up and he's reading over what he'd written before leaving.

"What was there?" Steve presses, leaning his chin on Bucky's shoulder.

His face scrunches up, confused and searching for a suitable answer. Those captivating grey eyes of his blank out for a moment into space as he thinks. His hands finally stop.

"I'm not even sure," he finally answers coolly, resting his head on Steve's. He inhales the scent of Bucky's shampoo and clings to him tighter, happy that he'd been given the chance to stay around enough to familiarize the scent.

"Whatever the hell _it_ was, _it_ was there. Like soulmates or some shit. I used to believe in that spiritual shit about each person being perfectly destined to be the other half of someone else. It was an old notion; a fairytale, even. Didn't believe again till I'd married Natasha."

"You think you guys would still be together if she hadn't passed?"

The question is barely in the air before Bucky shakes his head and hangs it to stare at his fingers on the keys.

"I think at some point she would've realized I'm a piece of shit and married herself some macho man," he explains self deprecatingly yet managing to remain too positive for Steve's liking.

"Why do you beat yourself up so much?" Steve lifts his head from Bucky's shoulder to peck his cheeks and leave a trail of kisses from there to his lips. They lock perfectly, sending that heat and electricity that hasn't faded since their first kiss throughout both their bodies.

"If there's _one_ thing I can't stand, it's when you talk about yourself like that," he goes on between kisses. Bucky grunts sharply when Steve bites down on his bottom lip furiously. "I wish you saw what I see."

Bucky pulls away with calculated moments and wary eyes like any sudden movement would trigger Steve into punishing him. "What do you see? Hmm? Why do you like me so damn much, huh?" There's an edge in his voice that weighs on the verge of seriousness and genuine curiosity.

Seeing the hesitation in Bucky, Steve scooches over a few inches to study him further. He's still that scared, unsure, swaggering shell of a man that captured Steve in the first place. It's impossible not to find something to like. Lucky for Steve, he doesn't have to find or search when everything is plainly obvious just by looking at him.

"Well for one thing, I find it kinda cute how you always style your hair into a bun 'cus you claim you have too much hair and argue with me when I suggest you cut it," he starts, spinning a stray strand of Bucky's waves around his index finger when he gets close again.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. I like it when you promise you'll watch a movie with me, and somehow I end up sucking your dick for you to do so."

Bucky whimpers shamefully and grips Steve's thigh. "You do?"

"It's a bit of a turn on. Just like how when you beg me to buy you food instead of cooking, or borrowing my cologne 'cus we wear the same kind, or that little tantrum you throw when you can't figure out what to do with a song."

That last one makes Bucky's head whip up twisted defensively in a pout and a look that says_ "I do not"_ when they both know he does.

Steve kisses the grimace off his face. "Need anymore convincing?"

"I thought all that stuff annoyed you."

"Babe, if any of that shit annoyed me, I certainly wouldn't still be here."

"Figured you'd stay for my looks," Bucky half jokes, but it makes Steve frown. He could give this man a thousand compliments and Bucky'd still put himself at the bottom of the barrel.

Maybe Bucky can't help it. Maybe it's a defense mechanism. Whatever the hell it is, it's _not_ healthy, and whenever Bucky talks like that, Steve wants to punch Xavier, Buck's step dad, square in the fucking mouth for even touching his Bucky. Based on the story Bucky had told him, any dose of confidence Bucky's ever had was shot down by Xavier, explaining that Xavier tried to wither Bucky down to the lowest and most desperate point of need for him. He tried to mold Bucky into his fucking puppet and did so by abusing the kid and stripping him of all innocence and originality. Who knows what Bucky's personality would be like if he hadn't been under Xavier's thumb?

It explains everything. Xavier didn't value a damn thing about Bucky. Not like Steve. Steve _worships_ this man. Everything about him pulls Steve in like genie offering more than three wishes.

If only Bucky could see what Steve does.

"Looks fade," Steve says despite his racing brain.

Bucky turns away. "Yeah, then I'll be nothing, huh? Then you'll leave, I bet."

At that, Steve kisses Bucky's cheek again and leaves more traces of saliva behind as he travels to that red, pouted mouth he loves to kiss so much.

"You know I'm not going any-damn-where."

Bucky lets out a broken whimper, and his hand finally travels upward Steve's body instead of being glued to his thigh.

"Natasha would be a fool to let your ass go," Steve murmurs into his ear and nibbled gingerly on his earlobe. "I would be, too. That's why I'm here till you tell me to go."

"You say that now, but c'mon, Stevie, we've only been dating all of what? A _month_ and a _half_? What about a year from now? You still gonna be singing that same song?"

"That's another reason for me to stay. You have a nice voice."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "I'm a fucked up person."

"That whole Christian Grey, tortured soul shit doesn't work on me," Steve giggles and kisses along Bucky's jaw, eliciting a silent moan from him. "At this point, there's not a lot that could keep me away from you."

"Not if you knew everything."

"Well, all the more reason to stay. I can figure your ass out and continue to adore every part of you like a maniac."

That actually evokes a laugh from Bucky. He finally smiles. "This is a fair warning. Standing by me won't be a cup a tea."

"Good thing I drink beer," Steve mumbles over muffled and wet kisses along Bucky's prickling skin.

The sensation of Steve against him is unfair to his nervous system as well as his poor heart that beats like a hummingbird's whenever Steve merely looks at him. He believes he doesn't deserve it, but he doesn't stop him because he's selfish and hungry and desperate and horny.

All for _Steve._

_Steve, Steve, Steve..._

There isn't a damn thing he wouldn't do for Steve.

"Oh, yeah?" Steve responds, standing from the piano bench and taking Bucky with him in a protective embrace. Bucky's eyes shoot open at realizing he actually moaned that _aloud_. He's instantly put at an ease when Steve keeps on kissing and biting, leaving love marks along his collar as a physical claim over someone that's not even technically his.

"Yes, sir."

The kisses don't die out. Not before long, Steve's got Bucky pinned against the nearest wall, face buried deep in his neck, bruising whatever skin he can reach with a savage hunger that hadn't been taken care of in such a long time.

This is the buildup to that level of intimacy that he and Bucky are bound for. The nights they spent doing this with one another were fast and hectic, almost impossible, and having sex seemed like such a far destination because if it wasn't one thing interrupting, it's another. Steve can't be certainly sure that he's ready to let go for Bucky in such a personal way yet, but he senses that same thing from Bucky. He'd rather be unready together then walk a one way street alone.

Bucky's moans turn to whines now when Steve kills two birds with one stone and uses his lips for whispering sweet nothing into Bucky's ear as well as picking up a steady yet teasing rhythm of his hips to Bucky's. Lord knows they're harder than they'd care to admit, but Steve knows this man well enough to tell when he's holding back.

"I want to get something clear, baby boy," he growls and bites harshly into him. He yelps and slide down the wall an inch or two before Steve catches him.

"Yes, sir?" he slurs out.

"You're _not_ allowed to talk badly about yourself anymore. Makes me feel like you're challenging my judgment on who I should be with. You wanna _challenge_ me, baby boy?"

Bucky's mouth opens to answer, but his response is quickly aborted when that electric current he and Steve share physically shocks him through a forward push of Steve's dangerous hips right against his hard cock. To add onto the torture, Steve's roaming his way all across his torso, creeping into his right shoulder with less than gentle sucks, creating obnoxious suction sounds throughout the apartment.

"Answer me, baby," he demands, knowing damn well it's impossible for Bucky to resist an order no matter how limited control over his body is.

"_N-no_," he inaudibly chokes towards the ceiling, offering more space for Steve to leave more marks. "No, sir."

"We clear, huh? You're not gonna talk about yourself like that anymore?" He has to make sure before he goes any further.

"Yes, s-sir."

"Good boy. If I ever hear you talking like that," he begins, slightly distracted by how good Bucky smells as his nose runs involuntarily across his shoulder with each kiss, "I'm gonna _punish_ you."

"I like being punished, sir," he argues, forcing his hips forward to feel a sliver of friction from the denim of Steve's jeans. "I like being sp-spanked."

"I like spanking," Steve confesses, one hundred percent honest. Some would never peg Steve for the type, but nothing puts a chill down his spine faster than swiping a hard hand over soft, deserving flesh.

Ah, it's music to his fucking ears to hear his partner moan or yell aloud at the thrilling rush and sting of his hard hand then beg for him to stop when they both know damn well they like it. He'd never hesitate in pushing harder and further into that tight hole of whoever and landing a few slaps to keep them awake and reminded the next day when they try to sit down who the fuck they belong to.

_Fuck_, and the thought of taking Bucky over his knee makes him hard as all fuck, and if they didn't have this concert show case to get to, he'd make Bucky his little bitch in a fucking second.

It becomes too much for Steve. He needs Bucky _now_.

He needs this man naked, on his knees, begging in some sort of fashion for Steve to do something. The image of Bucky doing so awakens the absolute animal in Steve, compelling him to begin tumbling around with his belt loop till Bucky takes on the task and gets his pants open within seconds.

"You wanna be a good boy for me, Buck? Huh? Do you?"

"Sir, yes," he pants with a grip on the back of Steve's neck to keep him close to his body.

"You sure?"

"_Please_, sir..."

Convinced this is definitely occurring, Steve guides Bucky's flesh hand to the throbbing, hot bulge in his boxers. There's a chilling relief in the action, and he doesn't hesitate to exhale a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"You like?" Steve suggests, borderline cocky with no pun intended.

Bucky's face gushes red when he strokes a few testing feels given this is the first time he's touched Steve's dick flesh to flesh.

"Fuck," he mutters.

"What, baby boy?" Steve tries to coax comfortingly but it comes out strained.

"Um," he stutters and keeps his hand pacing at the same speed along Steve's dick, clearly nervous, falling from his role. "Ugh..."

"Tell me, honey," Steve tries, eyes shut and hips rocking slow to match the rhythm Bucky had going. "Wh-what'd I do?"

"H-how _big_ are you, sir?"

Pretty random yet not totally irrelevant question.

"Average, babe."

Bucky scoffs, confident, but his eyes speak more than his mouth ever could. He resembles a damn dear in the headlights as he strokes Steve to an unbearably slow and unfair pace. He dips his head forward to look straight down at the exposed tent in Steve's boxers and jeans.

"Ain't no way that _thing_ is average."

Steve has a snarky and impatient comeback ready, but it's held off when he suspects that hesitant nature returning within Bucky's demeanor. He suddenly looks so small and uncertain, eyes wide and glassing over with terror and downright refusal as he stares down at Steve's above average cock. In fact, he looks sick. He's gone pale and sad looking like a lost dog.

It's pretty pathetic.

Instead of making this any weirder, Steve pulls away from Bucky's hand and tucks away his cock carefully.

"Stevie?" He whines, crestfallen expression and eyes watering like he'd cry for getting his misbehaving and getting his favorite toy taken away. "I'm s-_sorry_."

"Baby," Steve growls and kisses Bucky passionately. "It's okay if you're not ready."

"I am," he protests weakly, reaching for Steve's crotch in the the process. "Just _pl-please..."_

He stops him and pins him back against the wall. "Buck, we really don't have to do anything."

"But I wanna," he argues childishly. "I _want_ _you_."

"And you have me," Steve assures him. "I'm here, okay? I don't wanna do anything till you're ready. And I mean ready. Ready _ready_."

Bucky's lips turn up in a sideways grin. "I just wanna be _good_ for you."

"And you are," he tells him honestly.

"Stevie-"

"Shh," he interrupts and kisses him again. "Just relax, alright?"

"But, I-" he whimpers. "I want you to feel good, s-sir."

"Bucky, you already do make me feel good."

Seeing as though he's ready to go back and forth, Bucky just shrugs and gives into Steve, knowing that what he's saying is probably for the best.

Steve knows best. Sir _always_ knows best.

"Can I at least give you a massage, baby?" Bucky asks, already making to removes Steve's shirt. "It'll be nice."

Steve thinks for a moment and leaves more kisses over Bucky's face. "How 'bout I give you one?"

The surge of panic that shoots through Bucky is at breakneck speed when Steve repeats his action and creeps a hand under Bucky's shirt. Neither men have ever seen the other jerk so fast out of the way before till now when Bucky pushes off the wall and as far from Steve as possible with a defensive grip on the hem of his shirt.

"Um, no!" He shouts louder than he intends.

Steve's jaw drops and his hands are up in defeat. "S-sorry? I didn't-"

"No, no, no, it's alright," Bucky mumbles, inching backwards, his actions going against his words. "I just get a little body conscious, ya know?"

Perplexed, Steve nods anyway and puts his hands down. The turn of atmosphere is nearly startling, and it makes him uncomfortable. Seems a little appalling how Bucky was seemingly ready for Steve to fuck him, yet dashed halfway across the apartment to get away from him. Making Bucky uncomfortable is Steve's last intention. He didn't mean to come on _too_ strong...

"Just come to the room with me, okay?" He offers Steve tentatively, nodding to the bedroom. "I'll give you a nice massage, we can take a bit of a nap, yeah? Ugh," his voice shakes, "then we can get onto the show. Sound okay?"

Steve's just as unsure as Bucky is when he nods. "Sure, baby. Sounds good."

A fixed smile plasters Bucky's face. "Good. C'mon."

The shift that occurred within them two doesn't have an effect on the massage. It's deep and sensual and pleasing for both parties even though there hangs an underlying trace of fear in the air.

Steve isn't sure what happened, but he hopes to be around long enough to find out.

* * *

Steve and Bucky arrives a half an hour before showtime starts, getting seats in the fifth row with a suitable view of the auditorium stage. The seats fill up quickly with parents, relatives, and friends, and by the time the show is set to start, people are still filing in, trying to find a good seat. Steve reads through the program brochure while Bucky sets his head on his shoulder, patiently with a juvenile pout. Clint sits on his other side with his own kids and a video camera while Dum Dum sits on Steve's left, going over the program as well.

"Where'd she say she wanted to go afterwards?" Dum Dum asks, nudging Steve with his elbow.

"Um, she's going to a sleepover with some of the girls in her class," he answers, remembering something or the other about her begging Bucky to let her spend the night at a friend's house.

Dum Dum nods in understanding and flips a page in the program. "Wish my kids were into this artsy stuff. Only thing they have passion for is getting on my nerves and spending my money."

Steve laughs. He'd forgotten Dum Dum had children. He's pretty young, so they're probably around Mischka and Clint's tykes age.

Come to think of it, he's the _only_ one sitting here who _doesn't_ have a kid.

"Can we eat after this?" Bucky whines.

"No, I've decided to starve you," Steve answers, searching the paper for Mischka's name.

"Ha-ha," he hums, monotone.

Steve ignores him and keeps looking with no luck.

"Why isn't her name in here?" He's about to ask, but the lights in the auditorium dim and the audience begins to applaud. A voice comes on over the intercom instructing the crowd to stay silent during performances with no flash photography or leaving during while someone is on stage for there will be a ten minute intermission halfway through the show. Not before long, the stage is blank and dark, but a spotlight centers on a single dancer as melodic music from the speakers comes to life. She's must be one of the older students given how put together and rhythmic her moves are.

Steve keeps his eyes peeled during every second of every performance for Mischka. She appears once or twice during the first few performances with minimal costume changes. All the practice she'd done around the house pays off beautifully because she's most likely the best one on that stage - he's not just saying that 'cus he loves her to death either. He truly believes so.

There's a classical piece, a modern jazz piece, and even some tap dancing done by a handful of the older students. Steve's _highly_ impressed with all the young talent which causes his mind to drift off onto what could've been had he made his last relationship work.

He doesn't know for sure, but he can guess that his baby girl would like to dance, but still be smart as ever. Maybe his son would like dance more than he did baseball, and that'd be perfectly fine with Steve. Just as long as his kids were happy doing what they loved, he'd be satisfied.

And the possibility that one of kids wanted to take on a science versus an art wouldn't deter his enthusiasm any further. He'd be right there, present and helping with every science fair project that his son or daughter had.

He doesn't mean to sigh sadly, and when he does, it catches Bucky's attention. The other man pokes his cheek and grins goofy.

"Don't worry," he whispers. "Just a few more till Mischka's class."

Steve nods even though that's not why he was sighing. Instead of going back into his brain, he pays better attention to the show.

There's another classical ballet dance or two before, as promised, Mischka's class takes stage. Clint, Bucky, Steve, and Dum Dum are all at attention and straightening themselves out to watch. Clint has his camera ready.

The song is a sad core, modern day, balled with violin and harp instrumentals, a feather light bass, and easily catchy backup vocals. Steve instantly likes it, and Bucky is humming along before the ballerinas even begin dancing.

Their costumes consists of white tights and flowing velvet dresses with diamond hair accessories and glittery makeup. Mischka's easily spotted in the front sporting a huge smile and natural stage presence.

The routine is complicated and full of transitions too quick for Steve to keep up with, yet she dances around them so sophisticated like dancing were just like taking a walk. She moves like water, just as graceful and delicate as she wants to be. There's no struggle in this craft; she's a master at it - a _natural_, even. Like she's made for it.

Her moves has Steve so entranced that he _doesn't_ even pay attention to Pietro doing the same moves in white spandex leggings and a tank top. There is a point in the dance where he lifts her into the air with very calculated movements so he's careful not to drop her, and she resembles a fairy queen almost as she makes it back to her feet with no struggle.

Not to say all the other students in the dance were bad, but they _weren't_ as _great_ as Mischka. Not by a long shot.

Steve can't take his eyes off of her. He suffers a second long withdrawal when she exits stage left then rushes right back on and back in the front. You'd never guess she was tired and halfway out of breath by the way her face stays composed and neutral. She does a leap in a circle accompanied by some other girls and their dresses fly upward like swirling snow. They land _perfectly_ into a roll upstage without effort as the song ends. The lyrics are the first to fade, then the harp, and there's nothing left but a solitary violin that's almost sad in contrast to the cheery energy of the performers. The second the song ends, the lights dim down and the audience is clapping and cheering.

"_That's my girl_!" Bucky is shouting, clapping louder than anyone in their row. "Hey," he taps the shoulder of the person in front of him and proudly says, "That's _my_ kid."

The show lasts for another half an hour consisting of several more performances - that clearly don't top Mischka's - and once everyone has done their bows and Ms. Wanda has a closing speech, Mischka is in Bucky's arms, squeezing as tight as her frame could.

"Oh, sweetie, you did _so good_ up there! I'm _so_ proud of you," he congratulates, rocking her back and forth. Steve more than wants to get in on the hug but instead he stands behind them two with Clint and Dum Dum and awkwardly holds the flowers he'd gotten her.

"Did you like it?" She asks cautiously with a finger dangling shyly from her mouth.

"Liked it? I _loved_ it!"

"Really? What was your favorite part?"

Bucky pretends to think with a hand to his chin. "Probably the part where _you_ were on stage. Honestly, honey, you did _so well._"

Mischka's smile broadens as she leans into Bucky even more and shoots Steve a look.

"Did _you_ like it, Stevie?"

"Of course. And before you ask, you were my favorite part," he says honestly, crouching down to kiss her forehead. "These are for you," he hands her the roses and she buries her face in deep for a whiff.

"Thank you, Steve. You're the best."

A chill runs down Steve's spine, but he doesn't have time to register why before realizing that the little girl is hugging his leg, letting go, and interacting with Clint's kids. He's glad Bucky doesn't catch it considering he'd be too embarrassed to tell him he wishes that he were Mischka's father for some _odd_ reason.

* * *

It's eight o' clock by the time Steve, Bucky and Mischka are at a burger joint a block away from the school. Clint and Dum Dum would've joined them, but they both ditched to care for their own young. Of course, she's impatient and all she wants to do is get to the slumber party at her friend's house which results in her rushing all the food on her plate into her mouth and getting too sick to even move. Heartbroken, she's resistantly lets Steve and Bucky take her back to Steve's apartment to sleep off her stomach ache.

The little girl is tucked into the guest bedroom, sound asleep, and obviously pouting in her slumber at the unsatisfactory turn of events.

"She okay?" Steve asks as he lounges back on the sofa, flipping through channels for background noise.

Bucky plops down perfectly into the crevice of his arms. "Yeah," he answers and pats the space beside him for Carter to snuggle against him. "She's a bit upset."

"I'd be, too."

"Well, she brought it on herself," he shrugs and pets Carter till her brown eyes shut and her tail stops wagging. "Told her not to eat so fast."

"Yeah, but man, she put on a show tonight, huh? Didn't know she was that good," Steve mentions in awe, landing on the Discovery Channel.

"That's the Natasha in her," he tells him and eases further into the safe bend of Steve's body against his.

"Nat danced, too?"

"_Best_ dancer I ever knew. She did ballet, modern, tap, hip-hop. _She could_ _move_. Had more rhythm than I could _ever_ acquire," he explains and waves his hands about to accentuate his words.

If Steve were the asshole he was never meant to be, he'd mention the impeccable rhythm he remembers Bucky having when he caught him grinding against that random at Hydra. He pretends he doesn't remember and just rolls his eyes in disbelief. "I doubt that," he says, nodding sarcastically when Bucky's mouth goes agape at the protest.

"Stevie, I'm serious. I can't dance worth a damn!"

"You do music for a living, and you expect me to believe you can't dance? _Puh-lease_."

Bucky does that cute ass pout again and bounces up to meet Steve face to face, making Carter jump. "You don't believe me."

"That's evident."

"What if I show you?"

Steve scoffs. "What?"

"I'll show you how bad I am at dancing," he says confidently, getting up from the couch to thump his way to Steve's record player. "I'll put some music on and show you I dance like a white dad at a family cookout."

"Bucky," he calls and turns around to look at what the hell he's doing. The other man stands confused before the ancient contraption, scratching his head.

"Stark couldn't've hooked you up with something to play music on from this century? Christ, Steve, this must be _older _than_ you_."

His baby blues roll at that. "It has a little auxiliary cord in the back," he informs him and watches Bucky search for the black cord attached to the record player. When he finds it, he hooks his phone in, and turns the volume up.

"Is this necessary?"

"Well, yeah. You're trying to make a liar outta me, and this is the only way I can prove I'm _not_ lying," Bucky answers, searching for a song on his phone.

"That loud ass music's gonna wake Mischka up."

"That girl could sleep through a hurricane," he brushes it off then his voice goes suggestively lower than before. "Besides, don'tchu wanna see me dance?"

Steve can't resist licking his lips. _Fuck, he's teasing him._ "You mean make a fool of yourself?"

Bucky gives a halfhearted chuckle before deciding on a upbeat pop song and setting his phone atop the record player. He locks eyes with Steve the instant he starts moving. It's not much - a hip shake or two - but it's tempting.

"You call_ that_ dancing?" Steve teases.

"Told ya," Bucky quips, but continues to move his lips in time with the beat as best he can which, in Steve's opinion, ain't half bad. In fact, he's doing pretty good with keeping his moves concise and technical like he's not giving his all, afraid that Steve'll laugh at him. Bucky doesn't break eye contact with him as his arms travel awkwardly along his body like he's showcasing it for Steve's pleasure. A playful flick of the tongue sends a smile to Steve's face which grows into a full on laugh.

"See? Told ya I'm bad!"

That's when Steve gets up from the couch to stride over to where Bucky is. Carter can only watch the train wreck that's likely to occur, and if she were human, she'd probably laugh too.

"See, that's dancing for teenagers," Steve tells him and pauses the song. Bucky's movements stop and his eyebrows flick up to his hairline.

"Yeah? Didn't know _you_ could dance."

"I can't," Steve admits. "However, I have rhythm. If you can't really dance, no one can truly tell if you have rhythm."

Bucky crosses his arms, head to the side. "How so?"

"I'm gonna show you my safety move when it comes to this shit. _This_," he demonstrates by rocking back and forth with a simple one two step and snaps, "is safe. A simple step touch? Goes with _any_ song. Keep this rhythm and I promise no one will be able to tell you dance like a white dad at a family cookout."

Bucky seems impressed but not entirely convinced. "Guess that works," he guesses, unsure.

"Don't believe me? Play some music."

Bucky does as he's told and resumes the song he'd previously been dancing to. Just as Steve said, he matches the beat and doesn't miss a single melody even as the tempo picks up.

"Play another," he demands, still moving. Bucky scrolls for a moment and finds a faster rock song. Steve switches himself up to match the beat with ease. Willing, Bucky watches him closely and joins in on the "dance," intentionally infiltrating his personal bubble.

"Like this?" he says under his breath, occasionally bumping into Steve on purpose.

"Just like that," he encourages, lowering his arms down to Bucky's slim waist and resting his hand comfortingly on his rocking hips. "Ready for your next lesson?

"There's more?"

"Oh yeah," Steve chirps matter of factly. "There's _partner_ dancing, too." He forces his sultry glance into Bucky till he's sure he has his undivided attention. Soon, Bucky stops swaying and is returning the heavy glares.

"Partner dancing?"

"Mhm," Steve hums, rubbing gentle circles about Bucky's sides. "_Dancing_ and _sex_ are kinda the same in that way. They're both not that fun if you don't have the right partner."

Neither men miss how Bucky's breath hitches and gets caught in his throat. The other man is already as red as a damn tomato trying to get himself under control.

"Yeah?" He croaks out, swallowing hard.

"Relax, baby," Steve soothes him and fills those trivial centimeters that they're apart with the motion of his rocking hips. "See me? How my hips move?"

"Yes, sir," Bucky answers, gulping at the small actions.

"See how easy it is?"

"Yes, sir."

There's been a shift in the atmosphere that Steve gladly takes all the credit for. That possessive and protective nature whelms him when he's with Bucky. Everything about him is an outstretched hand for guidance, and Steve's more than willing to take that hand even if it starts off as a dirty dance lesson.

He doesn't rush himself. This doesn't have to be over before it needs to be. They've all night.

"Only difference is that you're facing forward and I'm behind you. Is that okay with you, baby? Can I be behind you _like_ _this_?"

Steve inches forward, closing the space. His breath is down Bucky's nape tauntingly like a chill in the wind while Steve's hands wrap around the front to firmly grasp his middle. The contact sends Bucky reeling with choked breaths and trembles like someone put a piece of ice down his back.

"You sure this is okay, baby boy? It's just a dance lesson. We can stop if you want," he assures him, kissing the red and boiling skin of his neck. As badly as Steve wanted to be as close as humanly possible to this man, he wouldn't hesitate to back off if he felt like he made him uncomfortable.

"N-no. Please teach me, sir," Bucky protests, taking initiative and beginning to rock against Steve with little finesse. "Like this, sir?"

God, he sounds way _too innocent_. Too innocent for Steve to handle. He's so damn _precious_. But he's certainly not stupid. He knows exactly what the fuck he's doing to Steve when he uses that baby voice and those huge, doting eyes that reverently stare Steve down when he's too ashamed to verbally beg. Bucky plays along just like Steve and does a superb job at getting Steve hyped up and ready to dominate.

Neither are sure how they ended up in the position they're in within such a short time. It's like a metaphorical switch that goes off in both of their heads when they're alone. One look is all it takes for playtime to ensue. Steve can't help himself when it's so easy to turn Bucky on.

"Nah, baby," he coos right into Bucky's ear, with his lips ghosting just over the lobe. His forceful hands stop Bucky's swaying. "It's a bit more _like this_."

Bucky allows himself to be maneuvered into Steve's movements. There's no resistance in his aura - his hands actually raise upwards to hold Steve close behind his neck. A count or two later, the two men are grinding in perfect tune to the rock song playing over the record player. It's impossible for Bucky to not feel how hard Steve's getting through his pants.

Steve's cock rests accordingly between Bucky's ass cheeks, getting minimal friction yet stimulation all the while as they rock and grind. It's not a pacy grind. It's sweet almost. Like he's handling with care - whatever happened earlier between them doesn't have to occur again, and Steve'll be damned if it does. Shit, he doesn't know why the fuck Bucky reacted _that way_. Touching Steve's cock surely startled him. God, he looked so frightened when he even tried to touch him afterwards...

"Sir," Bucky brings him back to Earth. "Sir, um...ah," he moans desperately, keeping Steve in a vice grip with one hand and squeezing his wrist with the other. His heart rate's picked up since they'd begun grinding, and Steve can tell because he practically hears Bucky's pulse as it bumps vigorously in his neck.

"Yes, baby boy?"

"I'm kinda hard," he barely articulates.

The more dominant man chuckles, nearly amused. "Yeah? Why's that? I've _barely_ touched you."

"I just, um, ugh, your cock is, um," he growls low in the back of his throat, squeezing Steve's wrists tighter and latching into a patch of his hair for dear life, "it's on my ass. I f-feel it."

"Yeah? Where else is it gonna be, baby? We're _grinding._ Why do you even mention it?"

"Sir," he trembles, voice rising an octave. "You said d-dancing was like sex."

"You sure your head's not in the gutter? This is just a dancing lesson, baby. Of course, you go and turn an innocent thing sexual," he jokes, kissing along the back of his neck. His skin is scorching.

"N-no, sir," he mumbles. "I'm sorry."

"Shhh, love. It's okay you're hard. I am, too. It's _natural._"

Bucky groans and forces himself to balance backwards as he pumps his ass on and off Steve's crotch for a sliver of friction he wasn't getting. Steve would laugh at the eagerness if he were distracted by how gorgeous the view is.

"Just tell sir what you want," he continues right into his ear. "What's up, hmm, baby?"

"I want _you,_" Bucky blurts out embarrassingly, turning even redder, but never stopping his bounce.

"You're gonna have to be more specific. Tell Stevie what you want. You wanna be touched?"

"Aw, fuck, sir," he manages to say with that baby voice. "Sir, I want you to touch me... _Feel me...please..._"

"Mhm," Steve agrees, forcing himself against Bucky's ass. "Are you sure, baby?"

The other man pauses for a moment and brings Steve closer if that were physically possible to whisper into his ear. "Take me to the bedroom, please," he begs hoarsely, and before he even gets his demand out, Steve has him by his hand and guiding him to the bedroom. Carter watches, knowing full well what's about to happen.

Once the door is locked shut behind them, Steve wastes no time pushing Bucky against it and making good work on his neck. It's needy just like earlier, but this time, Steve respectfully keep his other senses open to any discomfort to avoid another panic.

"_Ah_," Bucky sings, trapped against the door within the confines of Steve's huge arms. He's never felt safer. The tingly rush of Steve's lips on his neck send shivers down his spine and it even has him involuntarily arching his body forward as some sort of surrender to Steve and his ministrations.

The blond's mouth zeros in on a single spot in Bucky's neck, right under his jaw and between his ear. Instead of limiting himself to using his lips, he pinches the delicate skin there between his front teeth, sending Bucky howling. He licks over the spot multiple time and leans back a bit to check for discoloration. He's not gonna stop till Bucky's entire neck is full of scattered purple, red, and blue blotches and bruises.

"Oh, St- _fuck_," he moans louder after the third hickey. "Babe, y-you-" Whatever he was trying to say isn't as important as he'd thought. Instead of finishing his sentence, he surrenders to Steve even further and latches onto him.

There's no possible way he could stop even he really wanted to. He'd never deny that Bucky is a fucking addiction - _his addiction._ He's waited too long and deprived himself of such satisfaction - like turning a full grown man to a begging mess just by kissing his neck - to stop and second guess himself._ Fuck_, this is heaven. Bucky is heaven.

Everything from that cologne and cigarette mixture he's been fucked up over since the day he's met him to the mystery as to why he smells of cigarettes when he's never seen the man light one are good enough reasons to get attached. It's human nature to want this man. Steve's never gotten so attached to someone in such a short time, and that still scares him.

But, he feels okay with it. Feels okay with Bucky.

Bucky doesn't have to do a damn thing. Him just being will keep Steve around.

With every mark Steve leaves, he's closer to realizing that Bucky and him are finally having sex tonight. It's a scary thought though. Terrifying, actually. It'd be a lie to say he's_ not_ afraid...

"Fuck, baby," his Bucky gasp, shaking against him, and Steve doesn't miss how hard they've both gotten since grinding in the living room. He wants to put a hand on Bucky's poor dick, but he decides against it and puts all his effort into keeping Bucky against the door with limited wiggle room in case he tries to escape.

Afraid for what, though? The physical part he's not so worked up about, but what'll happened to them emotionally afterwards? Will it have been a mistake? Will Bucky's body like it, but his heart regrets it?

Steve couldn't bear it if he'd push Bucky away. He saw how hesitant he was earlier...

Maybe taking it all the way ruins them and what they have. Steve felt like he was ready..._what if Bucky's not?_

The room is filled with the suction and slurping of Steve's lips on Bucky, accompanied by his outrageous moaning for another ten minutes till Steve lets up and pulls away to see his masterpiece. As intended, the other man's neck consists of red, agitated skin, bruising beautifully where he counts about six, seven, eight..._ten hickies_.

They're art to him. They're careless, but Steve likes them not just 'cus they're his, but Bucky looks damn good all marked up like this. The brunet looks disoriented and love struck the way he's slumped against the door, neck extended, red all over with a grateful grin and adoration in his eyes.

"Am I pretty, sir?" he slurs.

Pretty doesn't cover it. "Gorgeous," he says. "Could stare at you _all day _and_ never_ get bored."

The red in Bucky's neck surfaces over his cheeks. "Sir," he responds as a 'thank you.'

Steve patiently takes Bucky's hand into his own and finally kisses him. It's soft versus the assault he'd done to his neck, and Bucky practically melt in Steve's grip once he's off the door.

Holding Bucky with both hands, Steve brings him forward, never breaking the kiss, and guides him to his neatly made bed draped with blue silk sheets and a comforter that could envelope the two of them. They end up in that same position they were in that night in Bucky's apartment when he asked him to stay the night for the first time and he kept repeating those words.

_"I just wanna be a good boy for you."_

_"I can be good, Steve. I can be good."_

_"I'll be such a good boy, I swear."_

_"I'll be good, Steve, please don't leave yet..."_

He was begging for validation. Steve didn't get it and almost still doesn't. Brock's outlandish texts had something to do with it, he can guess that much, but it's all so odd.

Why does Bucky refer to himself as a _boy_? He's twenty- seven and well past being called a boy. Why does he have such an obsession with being good? Is that something this step dad drilled into him?

Good behavior equals rewards. That's obvious. Rewards and punishment were apart of their game of 'sir and baby boy.' Was Bucky afraid if he weren't good, Steve wouldn't stay? Steve's not in any position to judge him. He could be that asshole that leaves at the first sign of trouble, but he's not. He'll stay. He hasn't found a reason to go.

Leaning forward and up, he cups Bucky's face into protective hands and then only chastely kisses him till he's granted permission inside Bucky's mouth when their lips separate and overlap in a mess of saliva and moans. The kisses start off calm.

Bucky has Steve's head in his hands, tugging the blond's short hair to keep himself upright when he begins to grind onto his crotch. Their cocks bump into one another once or twice before they set a rhythm much like the one in the living room. Broken and hurt sounds creep out of Bucky when the kisses get harder and he holds onto Steve tighter than needed like if he didn't grip him hard enough, the man would disappear. His breath gets faster, his chest heaves in and out, and his movements are speedy like it's a race to see who can get who off faster.

It's not till Bucky lets out another sound that Steve realizes that he's _panicking_. His eyes flicker open to examine him and he's never looked more distressed. Even when Steve's lips stop, Bucky resumes to crush his lips downward, not allowing of Steve to let him go.

Steve's not dumb. Something's wrong.

"Baby," he breathes. "_Stop_."

"Sir," he sighs wetly and grinds faster to distract Steve, but it doesn't work. Steve lets his face go and digs fingers into Bucky's hips to stop him. "Sir, _please..._"

"C'mon, baby, stop," he pleads, leaning away from Bucky. "Stop," he repeats and regrets having to actually pinch Bucky painfully for him to come to a complete halt.

That doesn't stop his mouth though. He's kissing Steve's lips, but he's not responding which causes Bucky to panic further. "Stevie," he whines in that way he knows persuades Steve to let him have his way. It's a drawn out mewl more than a whine actually, and as annoying as it sounds, it's music to Steve's ears.

"Baby boy, listen to me," he exhales calmly. "Bucky, _stop._ I'm right here."

"Steve," he cries lowly. "Steve, kiss me,_ please_."

"Baby," Steve stops him to throw a concerned glance up in his direction. His eyes are still closed so Steve coaxes him to open them. He does, and they're wet with tears. Immediately, Steve thinks he's gone and done something wrong. He has on that same expression as earlier which is what Steve fears the most.

"Bucky, baby, what's wrong?" he tries and pets his back. "Hmm? Tell me."

He looks conflicted. Definitely there's something wrong and denying it would be a lie, and he knows better than to lie to his sir. On the other hand, he could tell Steve what's the matter and risk losing what he's pined for for so long.

"Honey, you know you can tell me. I already told you I'm not going anywhere."

Bucky stares at him, teary eyed.

"It's okay," he assures and rubs his sides. "Did I do something wrong?"

Bucky shakes his head.

"Use your words like a big boy," he commands. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he tells him and blushes another shade of red when Steve nudges him playfully. "No, _sir,_" he adds.

"Then what's wrong, hmm? What's got you so worked up? Do you not want to, ugh-"

"No, I do," he pipes up in a panic and sets both hands on Steve's broad chest to stable himself. "It's just this _thing._"

"What? You're secretly straight?"

Bucky actually laughs at that, somewhat at an ease. He dips his head low to kiss Steve softly and leans away a second later. "Um, I have something to show you," he tells him slowly and slides off his lap to get back on two feet stably.

Steve blinks. "Okay."

Bucky does a nervous walk backwards before pivoting on his heels so his back is facing Steve and his front is towards the bathroom door. His movements take time unlike how hurried they were a moment ago atop Steve.

"I'm scared," he confesses before taking another step.

Steve swallows. "Please don't be. Whatever it is, you can show me."

With that in mind, Bucky begins to move again but no faster than he did before. Steve can't decipher why the fuck his heart almost jumps out of his chest when his left hand loops around to his front. There's a leathery chaffing sound before Bucky sets the glove on Steve's dresser and purposely makes use of the shadows of the dark room to shield Steve from seeing him before he's ready.

There's a second of hesitation before Bucky sniffles and pulls upward on the hem of his shirt. Steve squints to see, but can't, and all he makes out of Bucky's figure is his right shoulders as his shirt slides to the carpet.

"I won't blame you if you think I'm a monster," Bucky says over his shoulder and chuckles humorlessly.

"Baby," he calls to him. "Please," he begs.

Time feels like it stands still the few seconds before Bucky emerges from the shadow near the dresser. Steve doesn't know what to prepare for, but he holds his breath anyway, ready for the worst. He makes sure his face is as neutral as possible so not to get it confused with judgment. Bucky shirtless in front of him, looking more beautiful than anything Steve's ever fucking seen. There's no exaggeration when he tells himself that Bucky's the meaning of perfection. The uncertainty is written all over his face when he approaches tentatively further to reveal his full and true self.

Steve's speechless.

Interlocking, shiny, silver, metal plates shaped identically to the muscle on his right arm surface over what would be a left arm. The metal starts at his shoulder, where a disorganized array of discolored scars and dead skin tissue resembling stretch marks are on the edge of where the skin ends, and descends all the way to his fingertips.

As out of place as a arm made of metal may seem, it's never looked more in place on Bucky's body.

It looks like a robotic version of his right one, yet he looks more human than ever with his anxious expression saying everything his mouth can't. He's trying to read Steve's face, but he's too much in his own head to realize that Steve isn't disgusted, repulsed, or scared like he'd thought he'd be.

_This is the secret Bucky's been hiding the whole time?_

Steve actually smiles and instead of settling Bucky's nerves, the gesture only provokes Bucky to actually _back away_ from Steve.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to Steve and is halfway back into the shadows before Steve is on his feet, grabbing him by the jaw and crushing their lips together. Bucky makes a shocked sound and gives in almost immediately and only uses his right hand to wrap around Steve's waist.

"It's okay," he exhales and nods towards the left arm. "It's fine, baby."

"No, Steve," he mumbles under his breath, almost refusing to move his left arm. "I'll _hurt_ you."

"No, you won't. Baby, it's okay," he assures him and kisses him again pushing every dose of positive energy onto his lips. "It's _okay_."

Bucky doesn't meet Steve's pleading eyes even when he tilts his chin. Steve loops arms around Bucky and purposely brushes his left one to encourage him to hold him back. He knows he's playing with fire here. He doesn't know how Bucky will react if he pushes too much and he doesn't know _what_ the arm is capable of.

There's something in him that just knows he's safe. Bucky's more scared than he is.

"Honey, you gotta trust me if we're gonna do this. I know you're scared, but I am, too," he confesses eagerly and kisses him again. "I just wanna make you feel good, baby boy."

And boy, does he mean _that_.

The younger man sniffles though there are no tears. His arm whirs as he gradually raises it to set on Steve's face with delicate intentions, but changes his mind and pulls it away to hold against his chest.

"I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you with this thing. I-I trust _you_," he trembles and leans further into Steve. "I don't trust _me_. I could really hurt you, Stevie-"

"Baby," he begins but is cut off.

"Steve, I'm sorry I'm this way."

"_Don't_ you _dare_ apologize," Steve whispers way below his normal breath so that his tone goes completely husky. "Don't you _ever_ be sorry."

The brunet is captivated by those baby blue and he probably doesn't have any control over himself when he nods in agreement. If his sir tells him to do something, he has no choice but to listen despite his own internal disagreement. He trusts Steve- he swears he does. He can't hurt him. He'll lose him.

"Did you already forget our new agreement? No bad talking yourself _or_ you'll be punished," Steve reminds him and touches along his naked torso with wandering and gentle fingers to show he means no harm and that he's more at ease than he's ever been, even with Bucky's arm.

He nods again and allows Steve to do as he pleases when he runs a thumb down the middle of those pouted, swollen, poked lips to grab his attention

"Such beautiful lips," Steve idly comments, heart eyed as fuck when his thumb travels off his lips to cup his cleft chin. "Such a beautiful boy. All mine, huh?"

Bucky falls back into his role with the quickness. "Yes, sir. All _yours_, sir."

Those words could kill Steve if he were any weaker. "You think you could trust me enough to make you feel good?"

There's a heartbeat of silence. "I do."

Steve pulls back to check his expression. "I'm gonna kiss you now."

And he does. Steve never kissed Bucky so damn hard. Their teeth clink a few times but it's perfectly fine 'cus the contact itself was reassuring and comforting. The kisses take Bucky's mind off of his arm because before they know it, both his right and left are around Steve waist, pulling him closer. The room's dark. Their only source of light is the street lights outside Steve's window that he's spent more than enough time sketching. It sets a romantic and haunting ambiance that limits their exploration of one another's body to a kinesthetic one instead of one based on visuals.

"Turn around," Steve demands and Bucky does as he's told hesitantly. It's the same story of scars and dead tissue on his shoulder blade and Steve does what comes to him first.

It catches Bucky off guard and he actually jumps an inch in the air at the sudden wet feeling of Steve's puckered lips pecking the edge of where skin meets metal. All he's able to vocalize are broken out gasps that signal his loss of words at the bravery of Steve diving into such intimate contact with such a _dangerous_ part of his body. He doesn't know what to make of the act, but he hopes it's acceptance. Steve's approval - his way of saying that _yes, the arm is beautiful_ simply for being apart of him.

These kisses are lighter unlike the ones he'd done on Bucky's neck. They're small and make tiny, wet sounds from lips on metal. Steve ignores the bitter tastes of it and kisses directly on the damaged areas of his shoulder.

"So fucking beautiful," Steve mutters with his lips pressed to Bucky's skin. "Never seen anyone like you. So goddamn beautiful."

Bucky melts into Steve. "_Sir_," he slurs.

"Face me. Let me keep kissing you."

Bucky allows it. There's no reason he shouldn't.

Before both men know it, they're back on the bed with Bucky over top and straddling Steve's cock back to hardness. With each pump, he brings his own self back to being erect and moans wetly into the side of Steve's face.

Their positioning lines Steve's lips up with the front side of his left arm. His kisses continues along with sweet words of adoration. He could go on forever just like that. Bucky stops his hips and lets Steve ravish his scars with love. He's unsure about how he feels about Steve being so okay with him like this, and before he can stop it, his eyes are watering and tears drip down his cheeks.

"_Stevie_-" he starts but isn't able to finish because within seconds his tears overcome him and he's having trouble breathing.

"I know, baby," Steve comforts, kissing even harder and holding the man tighter to him. "I'm here."

His sobs decrease in a matter of minutes filled with hitched breaths and shaking. "_Please_," he begs with no preamble, head buried into Steve's neck and getting it wet with the last batch of tears.

"It's okay." Steve caresses over his back. "It's okay, baby. Shh."

He gives him a second to calm down before asking if he's okay. Bucky nods honestly while Steve wipes away the tears.

"You sure you still wanna-?" Steve has to make sure. It's always his baby boy's pleasure and comfort before his own, and he's fine with that.

"I do."

"Are you _sure_?"

The other man _fucking_ _hiccups_ and uses that baby voice again when he says, "Yes, sir. I need you to make me feel good."

He knows just what he's doing. The manipulative little shit is a master at working and playing Steve to his own advances. At this point, Steve's conflicted on whether he wants to say fuck all and cuddle the man back to emotional stability or fuck him stupid.

Steve lifts him and plops him as though he were dead weight onto the bed which makes Bucky gasp and yelp in surprise with a mischievous grin on his face. Steve climbs atop of him, holding all his weight on his hands before kissing all the way down Bucky's body and stopping at his waist to unbuckle his jeans. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he's halfway done tugging down Bucky's pants before the other man abruptly sits up and places his flesh hand his shoulder to stop him.

Steve looks up at him.

He's smiling.

"You _always_ take care a me," he says and pushes Steve hard enough to get him on his back beside him. Bucky crawls up to be over Steve this time, pulls his shirt off for him then tosses it aside. "Let me take care a _you_ now," he exhales between hard kisses along his bare chest and abdominal, reaching his waistline withing minutes.

There's a taunting chill about Bucky's mouth around his waist like this. It's one of those newer things he has no issue growing used to.

The brunet licks a trail from Steve's bellybutton to where his gray boxer briefs poke from his jeans that have begun to sag after wearing them so long today. Steve shivers when the jingling sound of his belt coming undone fills the room along with the pressure of Bucky jerking the belt off of his hips. It shakes him, and all he can think to do is watch Bucky unbutton his jeans, zip his zipper down, and tug with both hands.

The lump in his underpants takes Bucky's breath away and traces of that fear from earlier surface onto his expression. Steve sympathizes.

"Baby, you don't have to do-"

"_Please_ shut up," he snaps, refusing to look into Steve's eyes as he takes his sweet, agonizing time pulling Steve's briefs downward to be around his ankles with his jeans. His dick springs out the elastic confines of the underpants and rests all the way against his navel.

It's a kept, groomed cock, maybe two inches longer than Bucky's. It's definitely thicker, and Steve won't deny that past lovers have embarrassing and silly nicknames for it because of its size that to this day make him blush.

However, Bucky's staring at it like it's the most glorious and petrifying thing he's ever laid eyes on. His mouth hangs open in shock while his pupils dilate to till there ain't a trace of grey left. He looks _mystified_.

_"Fuck,"_ Steve groans at how sinfully hot this makes him. There had to be something fucking mentally wrong with him to find it a turn-on that Bucky's actually afraid of his dick. That doesn't seem right. It never has. Since day fucking _one_, it's the expression on Bucky's face that's gotten him off to many a masturbation sessions alone in his bedroom, kitchen, shower - _fucking_ _anywhere_.

Bucky inhales sharply and straightens Steve cock to be upright with warm and moist fingers. Steve bites back a moan when he strokes the red tip head of it, smearing the leaking pre-come along its entire length to get it nice and wet before he puts it in his mouth. It starts with kitten licks before Bucky steadies himself and draws out his strokes in tune with full on licks against the underside of Steve's cock.

_Fuck._

Bucky's tongue maneuvers over the first few inches with ease. He's got Steve slick with saliva and no crevice of him goes untouched. Although, he can't fit the whole thing into his mouth without choking, he assures that what his mouth can't reach, his hand does.

"_Auh_, baby," he grunts, forcing his eyes to stay open to watch but the spell he's under has him tilting his head back and fluttering his heavy lids closed. "Bucky," he wheezes and latches a hand in his long hair almost as if to guide the man's mouth to where it should be even though he's doing everything right.

Bucky's defined cheeks hollow out when he takes a deeper plunge on Steve's dick and accepts more into his mouth to suck on gingerly. Every time his head bobs down to take more in at a time, there's a wet popping sound accompanied with the slide. His slick lips are beautifully puckered around Steve's cock as it disappears and reappears within his mouth.

"Baby, _fuck_," he yelps when he stills longer than usual around him, moving nothing but his tongue in drenched laps around the width of Steve's dick. His whole frame begins to shake and whatever manners he'd learned growing up fly out the window when those huge hands of his lock around Bucky's head and pumps viciously into the warm haven of Bucky's mouth.

"_Augh_!" He yells, head thrown back, neck exposed and flushed red. "Suck my dick, baby boy, just the fuck like that!" He continues, ramming all nine inches within Bucky with reckless abandon and little thought to how rough he's being. The only thing coming from Bucky are choked sounds and frantic moans that plead for more despite how assertive it is. Both of his hands are clawed into Steve's bare thighs for purchase as Steve continuously inserts himself into that tight, wet, hole that Bucky so graciously produced just for him. His balls are hitting against Bucky's chin, which fills the room with a slapping sound as excess saliva flies out of Bucky's mouth.

"You're doing so good, baby boy," he praises him and pumps with the locks of Bucky's hair fisted in his hair as his controls. "So good, sweetie. So nice for your Stevie."

He finally looks down to Bucky and god, he's a fucking wreck. His eyes are red and watery while his mouth is stretch obscenely wider than what should be possible. His fingers are still in Steve thighs, and his hair is in tangles between Steve's fist.

He moans brokenly, and it snaps Steve out of it.

He immediately lets him go to smooth out his hair and slide his dick from out of his poor mouth before he dives right into an apology.

"Oh, baby, my sweet baby. I'm _so sorry_," he begins, stock still and scared to even move as Bucky desperately gasps for air like a fish out of water. He blinks rapidly and tears fall into his open mouth when he coughs and wipes his chin of saliva and pre-come. "Baby, I'm sorry," Steve repeats, sounding as pathetic as Bucky looks. "I shouldn't've been so rough with you. I didn't- _Ah_, _fuck_!"

The brunet takes Steve back into his mouth hungrily, moaning desperately like the little slut he's falling into be when he gets this way with Steve. He sucks likes he wants to _prove_ something. He's so _greedy_.

"Shit, baby, your mouth," Steve babbles and fearfully rests a hand in Bucky's hair. "Yeah, baby, just like that..."

Bucky's face scrunches up painfully when he deep throat the entire cock at his own leisure.

"_Four, three, two, one..._" Steve whispers to himself, keeping track how long Bucky stays on him. He loses his mind completely after fifteen seconds and his entire body vibrate with underused vigor when Bucky's tongue flicks relentlessly upon the drooling slit.

"Baby," he yelps. "_Don't_ stop."

Bucky feels the tightening of Steve's balls and does as he's instructed by not stopping, not even for a second. His head bounces even faster, never slacking when the outline of the cock head creases the inside of his cheek. It's such a pretty sight that send Steve into cardiac arrest and begging for more.

"I'ma _come_," he mentions as if it weren't obvious. "Goddammit, you're gonna make me _come_."

Tiny vibrations bloom along his entire body when Bucky hums fervently and releases his dick with a popping sound.

"You wanna come in my mouth, sir?" He asks innocently, leaving stray kisses along his cock as he waits for Steve's answer. It's painfully obvious what Bucky wants to hear.

"You wanna taste my come, baby? Wanna be my little bitch this time?" he taunts, smoothing out the hair stuck with sweat on Bucky's forehead. Steve endured countless times of swallowing Bucky down. It'll be nice to have a change in position.

"Yes, sir. I wanna be your little bitch. I want you to choke me with your cock again," he confesses blatantly, "I wanna swallow your come like a good boy."

"You _like_ choking on my dick?" He has to make sure before he does what he's about to do. When Bucky nods and flutters his eyelashes in anticipation, Steve takes that time to get to his knees and instruct Bucky to follow him to the middle of the room.

"On your knees. Now."

That fear in Bucky's eyes are at its prime.

_Perfect,_ Steve thinks.

Bucky actually crawls to Steve on all fours from the bed to the middle of the room and sits like a perfect let before him, looking up at him and waiting desperately for instruction.

"I'm gonna fuck your face again, baby," Steve informs him, rubbing his cheek soothingly and Bucky moans, accepting, as his head drops right into Steve's palms. He uses his thumb to pry Bucky's mouth open and get a glimpse of that sly, pink, tongue he works so well whether it's to suck Steve's dick or sass him. "You're beautiful," he tells him, and pumps his pelvis forward to caress his upright cock against the rim of Bucky's open mouth. The other man's breath sends shivers throughout his body.

"You have no clue how fucking badly I need to be _inside_ you," he goes on and Bucky stills Steve's hips to put it in his mouth again. He sucks delicately for a second before letting it go again and licking the tip.

"Good boy," he praises. "You like pleasing your sir?"

"_Fuck_, I do..."

"And why's that?"

"'Cus you take care a me."

"No one else can take care of you like I do, huh?"

Bucky's looking his cock right in its slit as though he answers to that instead of the person its attached to. "No, sir."

"You think you can make me cum with just your mouth like the good boy I know you are? Or do I have to _fuck_ one outta you?"

Bucky has the fear of God gleaming in those now black eyes when he stares up at Steve through hooded lids and dark lashes. He looks more cautious than he ever has when he has to answer to Steve like this. He knows better than anything that as Steve good boy he has to do as he's told regardless of how scared he is, and it's fine because he _knows_ Steve won't hurt him - It's those trigger words that assure him he's safe: _good boy._ That's all he wants to be, especially for Steve.

He could care less that he's on his knees begging like the good, little slut he's destined to become when it's for Steve.

_Anything_ for Steve.

**A/N THIS IS PART ONE OF CHAPTER NINE. IT'S A SOLID 16K+ WORDS. IF YOU PREFER TO READ BOTH PARTS TOGETHER, VISIT MY AO3 ACCOUNT. CHECK FOR REGULAR UPDATES. I DIDN'T WANNA POST SUCH A HUGE CHAPTER ON . I WAS FAR TOO EXCITED TO _NOT_ POST THIS. I CAN'T SAY WHEN PART TWO WILL BE UP, BUT IT WILL BE UP. _I PROMISE. _**

**_PLEASE REVIEW. _**


	10. 10

Bucky blinks up to him.

"_I_ can make you come, sir."

That's just what Steve wanted to hear. "Good," he agrees and devilishly thrusts forward to be halfway into Bucky's waiting, hot mouth. "Now suck me, baby. Suck my cock like you're sick, and my come is the _fucking_ cure."

Oh, God, he's so obedient.

He's so willing, and fucking greedy, and he's making Steve's head spin.

Bucky pumps so thankfully around Steve's cock, bracing himself with quick breaths before he dives back into gradually challenge himself to the whole nine inches. Steve twitches spastically when the tip of his dick nudges the soft tissue of Bucky's throat, making him gag and spit profusely around him but continuing to suck and envelope Steve into the wet paradise.

"Fuck, baby!" He shouts and has no choice but to relieve the pressure in his fingers to fisting Bucky's hair again. Squeezing the air didn't make him any less on edge so this helps. "_Fuck, fuck, fuck_," he chants brokenly, lips drooping and eyes squeezed shut.

Bucky gags another handful of times with no shame. Every time a pang of guilt for being so rough with him strikes Steve, Bucky assures him and blows him harder than he'd been before and that gets Steve's heart pumping louder and faster than it does when he goes on his jogs in the morning.

His eyes fight to stay open so the scene before him can stay etched in his memory. Risking his breath and practically his life by basically ingesting dick to please Steve is probably the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for him. With each slide that Bucky's face does along the length of Steve's cock, the more in love he feels. He's _never_ felt anything like this from anyone else. The influence of his emotions along with the physical stimulation of the whole act could bring tears to the man's eyes. What he's feeling for Bucky should be fucking illegal. Jesus, this fucker's practically _made for this_. It's almost _professional_.

God, and he's _enjoying_ it. The man's got a evil ass smile on his face and it looks dirtier than ever wrapped around Steve like this.

_Fuck, he's close..._

"Baby," he yelps anxiously and tugs on his hair. "Baby, I'm gonna _fucking_-"

The remainder of the statement doesn't get out before Steve's toes curl and burn against the fabric of the bedroom carpet. The muscle of his ass cheeks clench tight together as do his balls in time with his fingers within Bucky's hair, ruining his immaculate middle part. His frame locks ups and his chest freezes, - 'cus he's stopped breathing - like the rest of his body when heart stopping flashes of racing energy ascend from his penis to his legs and right to his brain, signaling that he's experiencing the best orgasm he's had since fucking ever.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! _Fucking fuck_," he howls frivolously with the world's widest grin on his face while his body shakes violently, continuously thrusting into Bucky's abused and come filled mouth to ride out his high. "Oh, _shit_," he laughs, eyes opening to catch the aftermath results and Bucky's reaction.

He's wide eyed and flushed, looking obscene and disillusioned, white semen slowly drooling from Steve's slit and surrounding his mouth, chin, and down his jawline. His entire face is drenched with a milky mixture of tears dripping down his face and saliva, and semen along his mouth and cheeks.

He looks fucking _ruined_.

Shit, he looks _ecstatic_.

"Ah, baby," Steve hums, rubbing out the last of his ejaculate on his face before it gives up and goes flaccid against his thigh. "Baby, that was-"

"I do good, sir?" He croaks, voice shot to hell and gravely, yet still remaking to sound as young and innocent as ever.

"You did _fucking_ _wonderful_. Never felt something so damn good," he elates the man below him and outstretches his hand for him to take it. The smile on Bucky's face is just as proud as the one on Steve's. It's a win-win situation. Steve gets his dick sucked while Bucky has bragging rights to be the _best_ cock sucker he's ever had.

"Now, c'mon." He takes him by his right hand and they languidly head towards the bathroom. "As much as I like to see my baby boy with come all over his face, gotta get you cleaned up."

Bucky giggles at that, totally unashamed. "Your come tastes like fucking sugar."

"Yeah, and by the end of the night, you're gonna have diabetes," he jokes, turns the light on and points to the toilet. "Sit," he commands and lets go of Bucky's hand to rummage under the sink for a clean washcloth. He gets some hot water running, dampens the cloth, and stands above Bucky, wiping his face of the bodily fluids.

They do this in silence for a while. Bucky's staring up at Steve lovingly and batting his lashes whenever Steve so happens to pay attention to him completely instead of just his face. Steve wants to speak up, but it's a comfortable silence. That fear of physical activity ruining their relationship doesn't seem _totally_ present even when Bucky's still trying to hide his left arm behind his back as though Steve hadn't seen it. _That's_ a talk for later.

Even getting a proud baby boy and a orgasm out of what they'd just done doesn't change Steve's care for Bucky's well being. It's at this moment when he's wiping the evidence clean off his face that he sighs, upset.

"What is it?" Bucky says first.

Obviously, Steve couldn't dismiss what he's feeling long enough to put on a brave face for Bucky so he wouldn't question it. He wants to say it's nothing so they can continue their play time, but his facial change wasn't exactly minute, and being as though Bucky would be on the receiving end of his hesitant energy, there's no reason to lie and not talk about it now. He knows Buck'll make fun of him, but at this point, he doesn't care.

"Shouldn't have been so rough with you," he mumbles, folds the cloth, and bats sweat beads off his forehead. "I'm sorry."

The younger man is visibly shocked by the apology. His eyes go wide and his eyebrows wiggle in utter confusion. It subsides and turns to humor as he begins to chuckle nervously.

"You're _apologizing_ to me?"

Steve nods.

"_Why_?"

He just shakes his head wipes at already clean skin just to busy himself and avoid eye contact. Bucky snatches the cloth from him and tosses it on the sink counter, forcing them to look at one another.

"Why're you saying sorry? You didn't hurt me. Well, I mean it _kinda_ hurt, but I liked it. Like _really_ liked it."

Steve stays silent and swallows loudly, jaw tensing.

"Please don't beat yourself up over this," Bucky assures him, taking Steve's hand in his right one, careful and away from the left. He's using those doe eyes and baby voice - the tortuous combination that works like kryptonite on Steve.

His face softens. Bucky continues.

"I like that kinda thing, y'know? Playing rough. I _love_ it actually. I like _passion_. Trust me, I'm not made a glass, so I ain't gonna break 'cus you get a lil' rowdy with me. I've done some kinky shit in my day, Stevie, and it's gonna take a little more than a brutal face-fucking to break me."

That sparks a flame in Steve somewhere his body can't pinpoint. It's starts off as what feels like jealousy, but his brain interprets it as a challenge. Hearing about the sexual escapades he's endured with other men before him is the last thing he'd wanna do tonight or fucking ever for that matter.

Steve doesn't let that show. He keeps a brave face and shakes his head again, still feeling guilty at how he'd behaved. That was never in his nature. He's _never_ been like _that_ with anyone. Not to say he's never been a _little_ rough with a spank or two, but he's _never_ lost control like that. It scared him truthfully. It's embarrassingly terrifying that the first time he and Bucky are to have sex, he ruins it by being overeager and nearly _killing_ the guy.

Then again, there's an animal in Steve that only shows its claws when Bucky's involved, whether it's protecting him or pleasing him. He's never been this way with anyone.

To be eye level, he gets down to his knees.

"Guess we should've talked a bit more about this, yeah?" Bucky guesses and rubs along Steve's arms, settling every nervous goose bump that surfaced Steve's skin. "Um, you know what you said about this working if I trusted you?"

He nods.

"It goes the same way with _me_. If we're gonna pursue a physical thing,_ which I pray to God we are,_ we gotta be on the same page. For starters, I like rough shit. Being manhandled and fucked till my legs go numb. You gotta trust me when I say I'm fine and that you're not hurting me if I begin to cry or some shit, 'kay?"

_Oh, Jesus, why'd he put that image in his head?_

Many a nights are spent in this very bathroom where Steve strokes and comes religiously at the thought of literal tears flowing down Bucky's face from being so torn apart by Steve. He wants those fantasies to come to life. God, it _scared_ him, but it turned him the fuck on to see Bucky how he saw him in the bedroom. Absolutely wrecked and covered in sweat and semen all because of Steve.

He just nods again.

"And I don't want you to hold out on me. _I trust you._ I trust you won't hurt me. Don't hold back. I like seeing you let loose."

"Yeah?"

Bucky smirks shyly and fails to hides it. He shrugs and leans forward to rest his forehead on Steve's. "Well, yeah," he answers like it's obvious. "You're so uptight and cautious, taking care of everyone else all the time. You deserve some time to be free. Be rough. Let out some steam and get a good nut out of it, too. Steve, you deserve every orgasm you get outta me. I'm more than willing and ready to please your ass. Don't skip out on the opportunity 'cus you're afraid of what's not real."

Steve knows he's right. He knows Bucky is making all the sense in the world, and he wants to believe and indulge in the fairytale they could have, but it seems too good. He wishes he weren't so fucking scared that he'll get hurt or end up hurting Bucky, which is the _last_ thing he ever wants to do. He'd face a _thousand_ heartbreaks if it meant Bucky didn't have to go through one.

The blond man eases forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips. It's a simple peck, yet it gets Bucky redder than he was when he was choking on Steve's dick.

"Anything else I should know that turns you on?"

Bucky thinks a moment and glances off to the side. "The whole _'treat you like a king, fuck you like a pornstar' _dynamic is kinda my thing," he tells him confidently, shrugging at how sarcastic he sounds but then he's blushing again.

"I kinda like names, too," he adds shyly, dipping his head low and away from Steve's curious eyes. "I know it's a little weird, but in the middle of being pounded to all hell, it's kinda nice to be called a '_dirty slut_' or something."

"Yeah?" Steve mentally notes for later. That's definitely something he can get off to. "What else?"

"Spankings are fun. Being lifted off the ground is, too. Shit, I like using food sometimes. Maybe role-playing. _I_ can play Little Red Riding Whore, and _you_ be the Big Bad Wolf," he says that last part low enough for just Steve's ears, sending his head into an unclear thinking space.

"C'mon, Buck. Not now. We're talking," he refuses, glaring back at Bucky's wanting stare with hard eyes.

"Ooh, _that_ too!" He chirps up with bright eyes.

"What?"

"I like when you call me 'Buck.' It' reminds me of a wild ass bronco. It's pretty funny actually."

"How so?"

"It's so like you to need a _nickname_ for a _nickname_," he says and they both end up laughing hysterically at how fucking dorky Steve is. "It's cute though."

"Anything else you want me to know?" Steve asks, keeping everything he's already told him in mind.

He shakes his head and feigns a nonchalant grin. "You're not gonna ask?"

"Ask what?"

Bucky's expression falters when he nods towards his left arm silently like mentioning it will wake it up. Steve grimaces and shrugs.

"I figure you'll tell me when you're ready."

"It doesn't _freak_ you out? _Bother_ you?"

"Should it?"

"Well, I mean, ugh," he stammers nervously, scoffs for lack of better words, and blurts out a disbelieving "Yeah."

"Well, it doesn't."

"You're not curious?" He scrunches his eyebrows together with narrowed, accusatory eyes.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," he tells him honestly. "But tonight's not about the arm. It's about _me_ making _you_ feel good."

Bucky actually looks shocked by that answer. "How aren't you freaking out and begging me not to touch you right now? I mean it's a _metal arm._ An _arm_ made of _metal_. _Metal arm_. As in _not flesh_," he babbles, making sure that he drills the notion into Steve head as coherently as he can to elicit a reaction.

He just blinks at him.

"You're not scared?" His shock to Steve's under reaction could probably equal the reaction he'd expected in the first place.

"What are you trying get outta me?"

He pouts.

"It doesn't scare or bother me. You know what is bothering me?"

"Me?"

"Uh, _yeah_," he pokes him in the ribs and Bucky's chortles when his whole upper body jerks sideways to escape being tickled. "Now quit being so antsy, alright? Can't you just accept that I don't care that you have an _arm_ made of _metal_? You having a metal arm isn't gonna stop me from fucking the shit outta you, is it?"

"No, sir," he answers obediently and places his forehead back on Steve's. "I just didn't think you'd wanna be with me no more. Thought you'd think I was a freak."

"Baby, based on what you just told me you like to do in bed, you're a freak regardless of the arm," he mentions and presses his lips to Bucky's mouth, tongue first and looking to latch with Bucky's. He responds accordingly and stretches his mouth wider to receive the anxious flicks that Steve's tongue doing with his. At one point, their lips aren't even moving and their tongues are just looping around, desperately massaging and dragging against each other, releasing euphoric humming noises of pleasure.

Steve eventually gets the upper hand, gaining dominance over the younger man and making him yowl as he drags his bottom lip out between his front teeth and sucks hard. He lets go, and chastely pecks the reddening skin there to even out their unspoken balance of rough and delicate.

"You think you'd maybe wanna put some of those kinks to use?" He asks gently, circling his knee with the heel of his palm to relax him. "My baby boy up to it?"

For as long as it took Bucky to think about it, part of Steve didn't expect Bucky to say, "Sir, I'm kinda tired now. Is it okay if we just go to sleep? Please?"

"Yeah, baby. C'mon." Steve interlocks his fingers with Bucky's and guides him back into the dark bedroom. The digital clock on the night table reads midnight.

"Lay down," he instructs him. "I'm gonna go turn everything off and check on Mischka, okay?"

Bucky nods, unbuckles his belt and shimmies out of his jeans to be in just his briefs before sliding in under the sheets and snuggling up with the conforter. Steve puts his jeans back on and buckles them to exit the bedroom, turn the record player and TV off.

"Please tell me you didn't hear anything that went down in there," Steve says to Carter as she trots beside him down the hall to where Mischka is. He cracks the door slightly to let the animal inside the room and she cuddles herself into a giant furball at the foot of the bed while Mischka sleeps without a sound. He nods to himself and turns off any remaining lights before rejoining Bucky back in the bedroom.

"She's still asleep?" Bucky asks but it comes out muffled since half his face is buried and slumping into the pillow.

"Yeah, she's fine. You okay?"

"I'm tired. Long day, I suppose."

Steve takes his pants back off and gathers his clothes off the floor to put in the hamper. "I'll bet. Primadonna's need sleep, too, and I'm not just talking 'bout the little one."

"Grandpa's got jokes?" Bucky yawns and curls in on himself to get warmer. "Oh, how funny. Get your ass in bed."

"Yeah, I'm coming." He waves a dismissive hand at him as he empties out his pockets for his phone. The screen lights up, showing he has multiple unread messages from Darcy and Sam asking how the night went. He'll have to text them back later.

"Stevie, come to bed," he continues, patting the mattress space beside him. "Come tell me some story about World War II so I can get to sleep quicker."

Steve snickers and sets his phone up to the charger on the nightstand. "You're funny," he mutters sarcastically, gets in on the empty side of the bed, and Bucky curls up to him and purrs like a needy cat with his head against Steve's naked chest.

"Mmm, you're warm," Bucky notes and locks Steve in with intertwined fingers around his torso. "Play in my hair, please. Gets me to sleep faster."

Steve uses the hand around Bucky's shoulder to reach and scratch his scalp. Almost immediately, Bucky sighs tiredly and sinks even further into Steve. His content hums get dramatically louder as he squeezes Steve.

"Thank you," Steve suddenly says, staring straight ahead to the blank TV on the wall while his fingers moves at their own pace.

"For?"

He shrugs. "Just being."

"Well, you can thank Winifred and George for that," he yawns and kisses wherever his lips reach on Steve's torso. "But, um, thanks, babe. But I should really be thanking you. You probably don't believe me when I say you're the best thing to happen to me since coming back to Brooklyn. But you are. You, uh," he pauses to yawn again and shudders his eyes closed. "You are. You're the shit."

"You're gonna make my head big."

"Hmmm…"

"You getting to sleep now?"

"Keep rubbing my head like this, and I'll be in a coma by morning."

"You have a good day, though?"

" I did."

Steve'll say anything to keep him up and talking. He just wants him to stay up so he can listen to him and have a late night conversation about anything. Anything to get him to stay awake. Watching over him as he sleep is just as satisfying though. To take note of the rise and fall of Bucky's chest as he breathes is an image Steve never wanted out of his head. His soft breathing's the sweetest lullaby.

But tonight, he's not tired or sleepy. What he really is is anxious and full of energy. He wants to keep touching Bucky and making him feel good. They hadn't even done anything about his erection which is kinda worrying.

"Hey, um, so I was looking in the dance program tonight. Couldn't find Mischka's name. Why's that?"

At first Bucky hutches his shoulders like he doesn't know. A second later, he sucks his teeth in and nods.

"Oh, right," he remembers and yawns a third time. "Mischka isn't her legal name. It's a nickname. Kind of a middle name."

"Then what's her real name?"

"Natalia. Full name's Natalia Mischkana Barnes."

That name sounds familiar. "Natalia? Like the restaurant we-"

"Remember when we went on our second date? I told you how that was mine and Natasha's place and how we went their on our first date?"

"Yeah."

"I wasn't kidding about that place having a special charm. That's where Nat told me she was pregnant and when we found out we were having a girl, it seemed only sensible to name her Natalia. The place had a pretty profound meaning for us. That's why I took you there."

There's no higher honor than that. Steve's chest flushes with gratitude.

"We only started calling her Mischka because we'd figured it'd get hella confusing having two Nats in the house," he explains further and snuggles closer to Steve.

"Where'd you say the name Mischka came from again?"

"It's Russian. I suppose it's a little silly. Before things got shitty with my parents, my dad read Becca and I that _Goldilocks &amp; the Three Bears_ picture book to get us to sleep at night. It was my favorite, and I always dreamed of being the Papa Bear and finding a girl to be my Mama Bear. Mischka translates to-"

"Little Bear."

Bucky chuckles. "Yup."

Steve sighs. He has to resist throwing himself into a fit of tears at how heartbreakingly fucking adorable that is. If only reminds him further that Natasha was meant for this family more than he is.

"That's cute."

"Mischka just kinda stuck even after Nat passed. It seemed right to let the girl have her own identity."

"Must've been terrible."

"A scared, anxious, and self-centered twenty-one year old war vet taking care of a baby by himself? It was a recipe for disaster. But here we are," he chuckles into Steve's muscles and kisses his chest. "But in all seriousness, it was nice to have help. Clint and the guys were around a lot to make sure I didn't lose my mind. Becca showed up pretty often, too, before moving in with her Australian beefcake of a boyfriend."

"When's the last time you spoke to her?"

"She liked one of my Instagram pictures yesterday."

Steve grimaces. "No, baby, like vocally how we're doing now."

Bucky shrugs and nudges his head into Steve's fingers when they slow down. He picks up his pace and waits for an answer.

"Um, it's been a while. She visited the kid and I for my birthday a couple years ago. So, probably then."

"You miss her?"

"Well, it's 2015. Social media makes it nearly impossible to miss people when they're in your face most of the time. But, it would be nice to sit down and have a coffee with her."

The older man nods in full understanding. He'd probably sell his soul to have one meal and conversation with Sarah - his mother - again.

Although throughout the conversation Bucky's voice had livened up, he still showed characteristics of fatigue. God, he didn't want him to sleep yet. He wanted to learn more about him. Fucking _anything_ if it'll keep him awake.

Just as he's about to ask another question, Bucky sits up to look at him curiously.

"Speaking of social media, you don't have an Instagram, do you?"

He shakes his head. "No. Why?"

"Well, fuck, now we gotta make you one," he practically cheers and launches his whole upper body over Steve's to reach the man's cell phone on the night stand. It lights up when Bucky begins to toy with it and open up apps.

"What do I need an Instagram for?"

"So, we can post cute pictures of us, and people can be jealous of how cute we are. _La-duh_," he tells him and touches around on the screen some more, eyes Steve for a moment and begins typing.

"I probably won't even use it."

"Here," he hands the phone to Steve and an unsolicited eye roll and groaning combination come from the user name Bucky's picked.

_Captain_America_

"Really?"

"_Steve Rogers_ is already taken."

"I'm not gonna use it, Buck," he says again and sets his phone down on the nightstand.

"Yeah, keep saying that but one of these days, I'm gonna do some cute shit and you're gonna be breaking your thumbs to upload it," he protests and gets comfortable beside Steve again. "Mmm," he hums. "Sir, my hair."

Steve's fingers are back into the tangled mess of brunet strands, happily massaging his scalp. "Don't go to sleep yet," he begs and kisses his head.

"Mhm."

He feels Bucky drifting. It makes him panic. It makes him worry.

_No, please, stay up. Just keep talking to me._

Bucky's breathing slows till it's even without stutters. His chest is rising and falling with tender snores, and his cheeks are rosy. His whole frame is slack against Steve's while his face goes relaxed and nearly angelic.

His baby boy's so at peace. Steve could stare forever, and really, he just wants to kiss his face without waking him.

Sure that he's knocked out, Steve just begins to utter to himself about Bucky even though he's finally asleep.

"You know you're beautiful, right? God, you're gorgeous," he sighs and keeps scratching his head like the good pet he is. "Made me so proud tonight. You're amazing. Everything about you. From those pretty eyes and lips. You have nice hair, too. Wish you didn't wear it up all the time. You got great legs. Perfect ass, too. I could fuck the shit outta you for hours."

Obviously, Bucky doesn't respond, so he continues.

"Is that too forward?" Steve questions. "Excuse me for being so rude, but it's true. Fucked a pretty fair hand of people in my day, but you? You're the hottest one - male and female.

"I've been wanting to ask you to be my guy for a while now. It's a new age of things and you know I'm pretty old fashion, but Sam insists I ask you in some cute, creative way. Any ideas?"

He knows it's partially rhetorical, but a part of him wishes Bucky would drop a hint or two. They've reached a pretty stable and familiar ground with one another - it's about time that something became official. Steve'll hasn't had a boyfriend since - well, ever. Hookups and Tony Stark _don't_ count.

There's some ideas and scenarios in his head to execute his idea that he thinks Bucky will find cute. That whole cake thing that he did with coming out was clever. He can see it now in rainbow frosting on a lemon cake.

_Will You Be My Boyfriend?_

That's an option.

Or he could send him on a scavenger hunt. Maybe, sketch him a picture. Make dinner again and just outright ask him.

His first fingers begin to slow when he feels himself getting tired as well. Even though Buck's asleep, he still wants to stay awake just to see him dream and make sure he's safe if he were to jerk awake from a nightmare.

Those heavy lids flutters shut over his baby blue's.

_I'm just resting my eyes_, he thinks.

He makes a mental note with his body clock to awaken ten minutes from now, but it doesn't work as hard as he tries to resist getting too comfortable. He could wake up Bucky...

Before he can help it, Steve's fast asleep with his fingers still intertwined within Bucky's hair. His breathing is in tune with Bucky's,and he hadn't even noticed he was mumbling the same phrase over again as sleep overtakes him.

_"Will you be my boyfriend?"_

* * *

There's a number of reasons why Steve jerks awake in a panic an hour later.

The first thing is because in the midst of dreaming, he internally knows he's been asleep for longer than ten minutes.

Secondly, his body didn't sense the weight of Bucky's against it anymore which was bound to trigger him at some point.

The third thing is the obnoxiously loud and distressed dying animal sounds coming from behind the bathroom door.

Disoriented from just awaking, Steve can't collect his surroundings as fast as he'd like to. He's confused as to how he's actually in his own bed when a good majority of the time, he wakes up in Bucky's apartment.

Bucky's absence is another mystery.

Even though he knows Bucky's not there, he instinctively looks to his side and straightens out the bed sheets. His hand touches something wet and sticky and automatically, his hand flies to his chest with a thump in surprise and his eyes widen at the white, wet patch that's setting in the silk sheets.

"_The fuck_?" He mutters.

If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say it's _semen_. It sure _looks_ like it, but he doesn't want to assume the dirtiest answer.

Rattling his head clear from panic, Steve languidly gets out of bed and blinks himself awake long enough to blindly find a pair of boxer shorts in his dresser.

_"No, no, no..."_ the bathroom whines.

"Baby," he calls and knocks with his knuckles on the bathroom door. The noises abruptly stop and a panicked gasp takes their place. "Bucky, baby, you in there?"

There's a stretched silence. Steve runs his hand over his face to wipe away the cobwebs while he waits for a reply.

"Steve," Bucky whines again after a minute that feels like an hour. "_Stevie_?"

"Baby, what're you doing? Why're you crying? Hmm?" He asks, turning on the bedroom light and inspecting the mess. Oh, yeah, _that's_ definitely _semen_. Steve's not the brightest bulb right now, but he can easily guess what's happened.

"I'm not _cr_-_crying_," he disagrees proudly, but the clear sounds of sniffles and the croaked resistance in his voice tell otherwise. "I'm _j-just_-"

He doesn't finish his sentence. Steve waits a minute, and his heart breaks for Bucky's sake. He must be embarrassed as all hell, and getting him out of the bathroom would probably be like pulling teeth.

"Just what?" Steve helps and pressed his ear to the door. "What's wrong, honey? Come out and talk to me."

"N-nothing's wrong."

"Bucky," he says sternly and tries to open the door. The knob jingles but it's locked. "Bucky, come out here and talk to me."

"I- I _can't_," he insists, voice sounded smaller than usual and more stressed than his manipulative baby voice. It's _real_. _Something_ _else_ is wrong.

Careful not to pressure him, Steve starts to stripe the bed of the sheets and puts them in the hamper. _Whatever's_ wrong with him shouldn't be _too_ bad, right? He's clearly embarrassed, and Steve doesn't wanna force Bucky to do something he doesn't want to no matter how anxious he feels.

He uses the sweetest voice possible to comfort Bucky and calm himself. "Can't what?"

"I can't come out there. Not _like_ _this_."

Steve stops and look to the bathroom door. "Like what?"

There's full on tears now. The noises start up again and and those protective instincts in Steve that are remotely directed to Bucky and his well-being rush to the surface of Steve's skin, turning it red and prickling with goose bumps. He's on the brink of just shoving the door down, but he knows if he shows panic, it'll scare Bucky.  
On the other side, Bucky's probably breaking down and curling himself into a ball in the corner, staring at the closed door in fear.

All he wants now is to hold him. _Something_ _else_ has his baby boy shaken up.

His feet don't move fast enough when he races back to the door and presses his ear against it.

"Like what?" He repeats, minimizing the shaking tension out of his voice. As scared as he is, he has to be strong.

He has to be _Sir_.

_That's_ the _only_ way he'll get through to Bucky especially at a time like this.

His voice deepens to that commanding timbre Bucky knows too well by now. "Baby boy, what's wrong?"

Jagged whimpers come from the other side. "Stevie," he snivels wetly, probably still in that ball.

He shakes his head and lightly chuckles with no humor. "_No_, honey."

There's a silence.

"_Sir_," he understands.

"You think my baby boy can tell me what's wrong?"

"_No_," he cries harder.

Steve sighs. "Why not?"

The next minute of silence feels like another hour until he gets the courage to speak up and his answer makes Steve's heart break all over again, even harder than the last.

"You're gonna get _mad_ at me. You're gonna _hit_ me and _yell_. Steve, you'll _hurt_ me..."

_That_ throws him for a loop.

His eyebrows scrunch upwards with a crease as he physically shakes from his stunned he is.

He's confused and a little hurt.

Bucky goes on.

"You're gonna do _something_. I-I-I don't know," he stammers and sniffles, probably wiping tears. "You're gonna get _mad_ at me then _hurt_ me. You'll be so disappointed. I deserve it. _I deserve it._ I didn't mean to ruin the bed, _Stevie_..."

As each word spills out, Steve covers his mouth in shock.

He sounds _terrified_ \- genuinely frightened to all hell that if he comes out that bathroom, Steve's gonna _hurt_ him for whatever's wrong as well as coming on the bed sheets. Something in him truly believes that he's doomed and can't escape without receiving some sort of punishment. The most fucked up part of this is that Bucky actually thinks he deserves it. No wonder he's in hysterics!

Steve is speechless. He has no clue how to come back from that. How does _anyone_ respond to that?

"Bucky," he sighs and places a hand on the door to keep from falling over. "Bucky, baby -" He's losing his balance. He's nauseous the thought of even _touching_ Bucky without his consent.

He cries some more. "Steve, I _didn't_ touch myself, I swear," he continues. "I was a good boy, okay? I'm _so_ _sorry_," he pleads and coughs over tears.

Steve has never felt more sick. He has no idea what the hell is going through Bucky's head. _Where's all this coming from? Did he do something wrong? _He wants to puke, but he pushes the feeling aside to lapse into deep thought at what the fuck would compel Bucky to fear for himself especially with Steve of all people. What could he have done to believe he's be in trouble and in need of reprimanding like a child from Steve?

"Honey, whatever it is, I won't yell. 'M _not_ gonna hit you. I'd _never_ do that, okay? Whatever it is, we'll get through it. Just open the door, sweetie."

It's quiet on both ends for a few seconds.

"_Stevie_?" Bucky finally says, voice hoarse.

"Yes, baby?"

There's a sniffle.

"When I come out, you have to promise you won't tease me."

At this point, Steve doesn't care. "Okay, babe, I won't."

After another handful seconds of silence, the bathroom light click off and the door knob turns. The blond takes a step back, expecting the worst but instead stands there dumbfounded when be can't find something immediately wrong.

His heart breaks a third and final time as Bucky emerges from the dark threshold with gallons worth of tears pouring from his red and puffy eyes down his face. His eyeballs dart everywhere but at Steve directly when he adjusts to their surroundings. Seeing the bed without their sheets sends his teeth chattering nervously behind swollen lips that have expanded up to _three_ _times_ their size from how _hard_ he's biting down on them. Even his hair is a mess of what would normally be a bun, but right now, it's halfway in a ponytail holder and half on his face, sticking from perspiration. His stance is tilted, leaning on the doorway drunkly and supporting himself up with shaking hands and legs.

The main reason why Bucky can barely hold himself up is because between his legs, there's a hard and pointed tent in his boxers in the the shape of his erect cock head, oozing rope after rope of pre-come into an expanding wet patch on the front of his underwear.

Steve's rooted to his spot in the carpet for an noted length of time, just staring and drinking Bucky's state in. He doesn't know what to think or say. It's almost criminal how hot and turned on he is from seeing his baby boy so broken like this without even having to touch him. He needs to help him - _do fucking something!_ But he _can't_.

He's clueless, and that's probably because all the blood is draining from the rest of his body down to his own cock as if to respond to whatever his brain is telling him.

_You did this to him._

_He needs you._

_Make your baby boy feel good._

"Bucky," is all he says and extends his arms out to offer a hug. He's not sure that's the right thing to do, but it feels healthy. "Bucky, c'mere."

Bucky sniffles and shakes his head. "S-sir," he says and his legs wobble nervously. "_It_ _hurts_," he tells Steve and puts a hand out for him to take, pull Bucky into his chest, and instantly begin to rub along his back reassuringly with kisses along his face. The younger man is hunched over and emptying the rest of his tears into Steve's neck while Steve walks backward carefully to set them on the bed.

As odd as it looks and as confused as Steve is, he keeps the man close to him, whispering sweet nothings for him that gradually calms him down. The sobbing is intense and it rocks both of their frames. Bucky sounds likes he can't breathe at some points which makes Steve hold him tighter and soothe him back to serenity.

"I'm _s_-_sorry_, sir," he slurs and kisses Steve's neck chastely.

"Why're you apologizing?"

Bucky sniffles and lifts his head from between Steve's arms to peer up at hi innocently. "Aren't you _m_-_mad_ at me?"

"_Mad_?" He repeats and shakes his head. "Why would I be mad?"

The younger man shivers and nuzzles in closer to Steve's chest for protection and assurance. He's so young looking and fragile. Steve fucking loves it.

"I came on your nice sheets," he confesses sheepishly and allows Steve to brush his thumb across his face to wipe away straying, drying tears. "I didn't mean to. I was asleep, and I was dreaming of _you_, and -"

Bucky's getting all worked up again at recollecting his thoughts on what'd happened.

Everything pulses faster on him, and Steve feels everything with how tight they're bound to one another. His breathing gets faster, more panicked and radical, like a animal aware it is being hunted. In time with those frantic gasps, his bare chest fluctuates and holds tighter onto Steve like a vice, but doesn't use as much force with his left arm that he does his right. As discombobulated as he is in this moment, he'd never hurt Steve despite how much he needs to feel his sir's skin against his. It's literally the only thing that's keeping him moderately leveled and sane.

Nah. _Fuck_ _that_. He's as insane as they come. All he wants is to be _good_ for Steve. Doing what he did doesn't make him _good_...

His human fingers are twitching. His heart pumps his blood faster than necessary while his veins pulsate against Steve as he forces no breathing room between he and his sir. This feels a lot like a panic attack. He nor Steve knows what he's freaking out about and the _fucking_ _boner_ between his legs _doesn't_ help at all.

"Baby," Steve coos and pecks his baby boy tenderly on the forehead. "Baby boy."

Bucky shakes even more.

Steve doesn't even try to calm him down. Not because he's an impatient dick but rightfully he knows he should be getting him off these unpleasant highs and lows Buck's brain is taking him through, but he's sure if the positions we're switched, he'd want someone to just _hold_ him and not rush his anxiety.

It's bittersweet to the finest degree; Bucky's horny and hard and it feels so good yet hurts so much. Not just his erection, but his whole body. There's this indescribable ache within his physicality that leaves him feeling exposed like an untreated wound. His haven is holding him, talking him down without words, and one by one, nerve by nerve, he feels like he's falling apart. Ripping at the seams, it feels like.

But Steve'll stitch him up all nice and new. He'll thread together all the edges with overflowing stuffing and sew all his buttons back on. Make him the greatest toy in the toy box again.

Maybe _that's_ why he's so disappointed with himself. He's always been the submissive in all his relationships and no ones ever made him feel sad like Steve does. The man's so _perfect_. All Buck wants is to please such perfection, and he went and ruined it by coming all over the man's sheets which could've been easily avoided if he hadn't lied about wanting to go to sleep instead of have sex.

Lord knows he'd wanted to. He almost jumped out of his skin when Steve asked, but he let memories rush back to him of harsher times. He got scared. He knows Steve wouldn't hurt him like that - _he apologized for fucking his face for God's sake_ \- but something about being intimate in that way with Steve excited him as well as startled him. Steve's _huge_, there's no denying that, and he'd rip his little ass right apart. He figures he'd be less embarrassed from crying of over stimulation than _this_.

He just wants to be _touched_ right now. _He needs to come._ It _hurts_. It _fucking hurts_.

He can't touch it though..._he'll be in so much trouble with his Sir..._

"Have you calmed down enough to tell me what's wrong?"

The brunet sighs and cuddles him even closer - if it were even possible. "Y-yes, sir."

"Don't talk until you think you're ready," he demands sternly but with gentle intentions as he pets Bucky's bangs out of his face so he can see him clearly and keep notice of his emotions. "Don't use too many words at once. I don't want you getting worked up again, okay? _I'll_ ask the questions. _You_ answer. Understand?"

Bucky nods then corrects himself before Steve says what he usually would whenever he doesn't give verbal confirmation - _"Use your words like a big boy." _

'Yes, sir."

Steve exhales, scattering his brain for the most relevant and burning question. "Okay, so why did you think I'd be mad at you?"

At first he doesn't say anything, following Steve's rule by getting his words together. He opens his mouth and shudders in the aftermath of his horrific crying.

"I came in the bed. Went n' ruined your nice, silk sheets," he answers and he has to stop himself from rambling an inarticulate apology.

Steve nods. _Makes sense,_ he supposes. That doesn't explain what else he'd said though.

"You said you were asleep?" Steve asks and Bucky nods.

"Was dreaming 'bout you and it just came out," he whimpers and he scrunches back up in pain. "Oh my God, sir, I'm _sorry_. I didn't -"

"_Shh_," Steve hushes him and tilts his chin so they're seeing each other eyes to eye. That doe eyed stare is probably the most precious thing he's ever seen. "It was an accident, yeah?"

"A wet dream. I didn't even know I was coming till I woke up. It seemed so real. Saw your face and everything."

That's probably the best thing Bucky's ever heard said to him. He instantly blushes but stays in that protective mode nonetheless.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, sir," he slurs and wipes his face with the back of his hand like a child. "Felt _so good_."

"And you thought I was gonna hurt you for ruining the sheets?"

Bucky tenses at that. "_Yes_," he replies quietly, right into Steve's neck, ashamed for once. "I thought you were gonna get mad 'cus I came without your permission. I didn't want you thinking I'd touched myself. I _didn't_, Steve, I swear. It hurt _so bad_, but_ I didn't touch myself._" he adds and grinds himself desperately against Steve's leg like a dog so he can feel the hard flesh of Bucky's crotch as physical proof of his words "I didn't."

Steve shivers and glances between them to look at the mess of clear pre-come already leaking to the mattress from Bucky's underwear. It's the hottest thing he's ever seen, and all he can think about is tending to it so Bucky will stop crying. It's perfect. It's genuine. The mere thought of Bucky taking his role so seriously that he's refused to indulge himself with masturbation if his Sir - _his Stevie_ \- wasn't there to give him permission is enough to earn him all the orgasms in the world. Steve feels sorry for his suffering.

"So, to be clear," Steve starts and summarizes what Bucky's told him. "You got upset because you accidentally came in the sheets and thought I'd punish you for coming without my permission?"

Bucky nods and kisses the side of Steve's face sincerely. "I was scared you were gonna hit me."

"Why's that?"

"Don't I deserve it?"

Just when putting those other three arrows through Steve's heart killed him, _that_ one drives the point home and outs him in the casket.

He sighs. _Damn that fucking Xavier straight to hell._ This has him written all over it. Steve may not know the man, but he can guess that he'd force such a mindset on Bucky to keep the young man under his thumb. It's definitely not a put on role in their game because if Bucky were _pretending_ to be hurt, he'd never go _that_ far. He knows where Steve stands with his safety, and he knew better than to say such a thing if he _didn't_ mean it.

But he _did_ mean it. He's been so hurt that he regretfully believes that Steve's _supposed_ to hurt him just because he's the dominant in the relationship.

"Why do you think you deserve it?" He asks tenderly and kisses along Bucky's hairline.

"Because I was bad," he says nonchalantly. "I came without permission and ruined the bed. I didn't mean to, but it was _bad_," he goes on and forces himself not to shake so much he actually begins to vibrate again. There's terror in those stormy eyes of his. He can't even look Steve in the eye when his own water over and leak to his lower lashes. "You're supposed to hit me. Punish me when I'm bad," he whimpers and nibbles on Steve's neck desperately so he can relieve some tension in his body. Steve moans but pulls away because it's distracting him from getting to the bottom of this.

Bucky makes a hurt sound at the rejection, but Steve keeps kissing his forehead and across his face then nips his nose. He doesn't know how else he can express his love and let Bucky know how much he adores him enough to _never_ do such a thing to him. As crazy as the man makes him, he couldn't ever hurt him. He wants him. Needs him. Worships him. Admires him.

_Fuck_. He _loves_ him.

That realization hits him _hard_ in the chest.

It doesn't seem real to him. He's actually okay with admitting he loves him.

Well, he's not _in love_ with him.

Is he?

However he feel, he knows it's more than a liking and less than slipping a ring on the guy's finger.

He holds him tighter.

"Is that what _you_ want me to do?" The blond wonders.

A minute that feels like ten passes before Bucky shakes his head. "No."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just take care of me," he sighs. "Take care of me because I need it. _I need you_. I didn't know how much I did till I did. I'm scared to death you won't want me anymore."

"Because?"

"I'm so _fucked up_," he answer, voice below whisper like a raspy wind into Steve's ears. "You're perfect. You're everything, and I'm just this useless fucker who everyone would be so much better without._ I need you, _Stevie. I need everything from you fucking the life out of me and just holding me like this. I need it. _I need you,_" he rambles and humps against Steve even harder and pants into the man's neck with how good the friction feels.

"I need you to make it go away. Make it stop. It hurts. God, _it fucking hurts_. Not allowed to come till you tell me. I need to come, sir," he moans, grabbing Steve's hands and guiding them to his crotch. His whole body's shivering like he's cold, but it's a nervous shiver. He's still scared. He's too excited. He's filled Steve's head up with so much. Bucky's more broken than he chooses to let on. It explains so much.

Catching them both off guard, Steve stops him with a hand to his rocking hips and ignores Bucky's hissing.

"Make it go away, sir," he cries and links his arms around Steve's neck, still idly moving his hips trying to find relief on anything his cock can bump into. "It hurts. Fucking hurts. Need you, _ugh_, to please, _oh fuck_ -" he pleads, kissing Steve's face between words. "God, Steve, _please_."

It sounds like Bucky's on his last breath of life when he begs like this. Steve loves it, but he's still trying to adjust to what Bucky'd said earlier. That abusive nature he's used to is what he thinks he deserves? The poor fucker is so obedient and submissive and head over heels for Steve that he was actually going to accept it if Steve had the mind to do that.

"_Shhh_," he hushes him and kisses his jawline. "Shh, baby, it's okay. _It's okay._ You want me to make it stop?"

"_Please_," he breathes brokenly, needing this so badly it's painting him red. He need Steve talking like this. He needs this type of concern.

"How do you want me to do it? My mouth? My hand? Hmm? Tell me, baby."

And suddenly, it's as if Bucky can't think straight. There's so many ways for him to get off, but there's only one way he need right now. It's petrifying, but Bucky needs Steve _in_ him. _Fucking_ _now_.

He stammers over some _um's_ and _ugh's_, watering at the mouth at being absolutely split in half the way he's been feening for since he's laid eyes on Steve. Out of the blue, he can't articulate how badly he needs something to fill him up and keep him whole or else he'll come undone right now and straight into another panic attack. He freezes and looks down to Steve's lap, and Steve understands a second later.

"Are you sure?"

"Please," his imploring sounds withered with each word he says. "Please, Steve."

There's nothing else Steve can do. He wants it. Bucky wants it. He's automatic in giving Bucky whatever he wants, so he eases away from Bucky, keeping their eyes locked when he opens the nightstand drawer in search of the golden supplies that every gay or bisexual man keeps in there: lube and a condom.

No words are exchanged. None need to be said. They know where this is gonna go. They're together on this. Bucky's is safe hands. Steve keeps the lube and condom in his right hand while he eases Bucky onto his stomach with his left. "Lay back, baby boy," he finally says and smacks his hands playfully when the brunet tries to remove his underwear himself.

"That's _my_ job," he explains and kisses the place he'd hit. Bucky nods and awkwardly sets his hands to his sides, not knowing what to do with them till Steve takes them to place behind his back. "Wish I had a pair of handcuffs to keep these hands from wandering where they shouldn't. Whaddyou think, baby boy?"

The brown, messy tuft of hair hiding Bucky's face in the pillow nods and a mumbled "_Yes, sir_," comes out.

Steve hadn't even realized how _hard_ he is till he straddles across Bucky's lower back above his tailbone and his erection curves along the dip in Bucky's spine.

"I gotta prep you, love," he tells Bucky, dragging the underwear down further and further till the _Calvin Klein_ written around the elastic is gone and all that's there is the two cheeks of fat and muscle that make up Bucky's ass.

Steve almost laughs. "Cute ass," he compliments and pokes it to see it jingle under his touch. "It's kinda fat. Can't tell by all those fucking skinny jeans you wear. Bet you can shake this thing a mile a minute. You've got the hips for it."

"Shut up and fuck me."

Steve does laugh now, but gives the flesh an experimental spank with his palm, sending Bucky groaning, writhing and tightening his hands around his wrists.

"_Fuck_," he mutters, and Steve rubs the spot he'd hit.

"_I_ give order around here. Now hold still while I eat your ass."

The biggest sexual fear Steve had in the passed eight years was being unsatisfying if the time did come should he put his face between someone's ass cheeks. He knows what he's doing, but he didn't wanna fuck up. He didn't wanna get carried away. And as he licks and sucks against Bucky's clasping, tiny, pink hole, he finds himself remembering how good it used to feel to pleasure someone else. He remembers the gratifying feeling of driving someone crazy with his tongue or fingers. He remember the honor in someone clamping his head right between their legs and beg _more, more, please, sir, more._

The fat of Bucky's ass is squishing between Steve's bruising fingers that are digging deep dents into Bucky's skin form his fingernails. He laps like it's a kiss around Bucky's asshole, dipping his tongue in and out the ring of muscles with as much saliva he can produce within seconds to loosen his baby boy up. Bucky's twisting and turning against the bare mattress to relive his cock but he earns a sharp spank if he moves too much for Steve. He continues kissing and sucking the hole harder after the third spank which Bucky also struggles to sit through.

After fifteen ruthless minutes of Steve toying with Bucky's asshole with his tongue and fingers, they both know Bucky's ready to take him. It'll be a snug fit, but that's better than feeling the mental and physical emptiness he knows Bucky feels. Steve takes pity on him and coaxes his asshole looser by fingering him a second time while whispering soft promises in his ear to take care of him and make this as good as he can.

"Steve," he cries into the bare mattress. "Oh, God, it _hurts_. I can't even feel it. It's n-numb," he tells him and clenches around Steve's index and middle finger ecstatically, jumping halfway out of his own skin when Steve brushes against his prostate with a wandering middle finger. They're surprised he didn't come right on the spot seeing as how overstimulated he is. Steve reaches around Bucky to the nightstand to get more lube to lather on Bucky's flexing asshole to sooth and loosen him up just a little bit more before entering him.

"Up, baby," he directs Bucky to sit upward and maneuvers him to prop himself up. It's a struggle since his limbs and bones are weak and rattling on their last dose of strength before giving out. Bucky obeys anyway and kneels just as Steve wanted while Steve rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth, tosses it to the side and unrolls the latex along the length of his cock.

Once it's undone all the way down, he exhales in preparation and that's when the doubt sets in.

_Should he?_

He doesn't wanna hurt Bucky.

He hasn't had sex in years. Fuck, he'd _only_ just began masturbating again. What if he's bad? What if the condom breaks?

Ultimately, he knows this can't be safe. He hasn't used a condom in a long, fucking time.

He hesitates momentarily just as he aligns himself with Bucky's opening. Bucky's on all fours now, ready and gaping, exposed and in heat like an animal with his ambitions bared along with his body. His body's shaking again, fearful, but it stops and a chorus of scared whimpers - similar to the ones a child makes - erupt from him when Steve sets a steadying hand on his hip.

An internal battle rages on in Steve. He wants this and he's so close to getting it, yet he's so far. He wants to please Bucky.

Jesus, he _can't_ hurt him.

He couldn't bear to hurt the one and only person he's been attracted to in years. The only person who has cared enough in years to pursue a relationship like this. He needs to get out of his head. He needs to focus on Bucky because he's the weak one right now, not Steve.

He just needs Bucky. Shit, he _probably _might be in love with him.

"You ready, love?" He asks, edging forward with his cock tip a centimeter from the hole, feeling how hot Bucky is already.

He whimpers another few times and nods. "Yes, sir."

"Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes, sir. I w-_want_ it."

Certainty is the basis of what he can offer Bucky. "You know I have to make sure. I have to make sure I _won't_ hurt you."

"You won't. Just _please_, Stevie," he begs and weakly flails his flesh arm backwards to pull Steve an inch forward so he's one push away from being inside of Bucky. His tip is cozying against the resistant ring of muscles. He'd take the plunge, but _something's_ stopping him. It's not that he doesn't want it. It's just… It's just -

Bucky's taken it upon himself to rocking his body back and searching for the push he's needing from Steve, which halts all internal arguments and battles he's having with the quickness. Before he can instruct Bucky to stop, the man under him is already successfully lowering himself gradually onto the width of Steve, gripping what he can of the mattress, absolutely in pain, gasping, and taking a full seat in his lap when his legs give out under the pressure to his ass. Without warning, Steve's anxious hands fly to both of Bucky's hips to steady himself and Bucky while he sinks further onto the cock enveloped in his ass. A rush travels through Steve similar to the electric current that goes through them when their lips meet. It's like a chill and a spark at the same - it's _invigorating_. It's a high he could get used to easily. Every nerve ending in his body is sent into hyper drive, set on its highest level of sensitivity when Bucky bottoms out and settles with all nine inches within him.

Steve's mouth is agape and he's frozen in place, his brain scrambling to give his body an order, but it's barely responding. All he can manage to do is squeeze Bucky's hips and listen to the helpless sobs coming out of Bucky. Steve's scared to move for the slightest change could send Bucky coming everywhere and getting upset all over again. At a lost and horny, Steve babbles to himself and settles comfortably against the cushion of Bucky's ass, his head swimming. His mind and body weren't on the same wavelength. One said to_ move, fuck the life out of this, make him come._ The other tells him to _not move an inch, let him adjust, just pull out now._

He's not sure who to listen to.

"St-Steve," Bucky garbles, shaking so hard Steve practically feels it in his own bones. Everything is so hazy and he tries to respond, but he's having difficulty of his own to speak. He can't believe he's actually inside of Bucky after all this time.

God, he feels _good_.

Steve finally glances down and smiles at how heavenly Bucky looks like this. Yeah, he looks disoriented, crazed, hellish, but absolutely gorgeous at the same damn time. The beads of sweat collecting down his back and neck cause Steve's grip to go unstable and slide till they're both too slick to hold onto each other. Bucky's completely in Steve's lap, crying fresh tears and desperately clutching to what he can of Steve.

"_Steve_," he repeats more clearly and wheezes like he's been punched in the lungs. "Steve, baby. Please, sir-"

"You want me to pull out?" _Please say no. Please, for the love of god if there is one, say no._

The "_no_" that comes out his mouth is strangled and distressed, spanning over multiple syllables. He pushes back on Steve, shudders, and repeats himself. "No," he moans and there's a sniffle to follow.

"Am I hurting you?"

Bucky sniffles again. "There's a dick in my ass. _Obviously_, it hurts," he quips innocently despite the bite behind his response. Steve would spank his tail red, but he's feeling sorta sympathetic to his rather sensitive position. He'd punish him later.

"Are you ready for me to move?" Steve asks, kissing against Bucky's neck and nipping his earlobe. "Hmm?"

"Please move, sir. Please. Make me forget my fucking name. Fuck me till I can't feel a goddamn thing. _Own_ _me_, sir. Fucking -," he wails and braces himself for a thrust but instead is flung forward, interrupted mid-sentence, to be back on his hands and knees while Steve positions himself to push forcefully.

"You talk too much," Steve laughs, arches Bucky's back to his delight, and hunches over the man to mount him entirely. "Just let me take care of you, alright?"

Bucky can't even get a word out before the words he was going to say are replaced with unprepared whines as Steve's lithe hips pull away, dragging his dick with them, and slam right back inside with as much force he'd expect Steve to have in him. The sound of his balls slapping against Bucky echo throughout the room once, twice, and a third, hard time when he lets himself fall into a steady rhythm.

Finally comfortable, Steve pushes into Bucky, fingers locked tight around his hips to keep the fucker from squirming away from him. That animal in him basically consumes the insecurity he'd been feeling previously which causes him to speed up, pushing and forcing himself between Bucky's cheeks with brutal intentions. Each thrust is as paced as the last, and any doubt Steve had about not being good faded away when Bucky shrieks to the high heavens with his head thrown back and bumps against Steve to meet each plunge that buries inside of him.

"Fucking Christ," he growls, throwing that ass back as hard as he can to meet Steve halfway. Although Steve appreciates the effort and greediness, he's in control and he doesn't need help. The harsh slap of Steve's backhand to his baby boy's right cheek jars Bucky enough to still him and cower to a mess of limbs under Steve. He yelps, shocked, and turns his head to glare at Steve blamelessly through black, glossy eyes, scrunched eyebrows, and eyelashes that are clumping together from sweat and tears.

"Sir," he cries, but Steve cuts him off with a hand over his mouth.

"_Shhh_," he demands, touching their foreheads to the best of his ability, given their position. "Don't say anything, okay? You wanted _me_ to take care of you, right?"  
He doesn't even sound like himself. He sounds gruff. He likes it. Bucky must too. The fear in his eyes is as much reverent as it aroused, so Steve takes that as an okay to continue. "I know you're ready, baby. I know you wanna come, but let _me_ do it. Okay? Let me take good care of you. I promise I'll let you come."

Steve removes his hand from over Bucky's mouth to put a finger in his mouth. Bucky moans around it and sucks, nodding to show he understands what he's to and not to do. His finger stays inside Bucky's mouth, leaving him to slobber and drool while Steve pulls back to his initial position and get back to pushing.

His defined iliac furrow slams with wet slapping sounds against the curve of Bucky's ass when he thrusts farther into him. There's little finesse in his movements, but they both enjoy it regardless. Bucky's rooted himself into the mattress, resisting and forcing himself to not move against Steve no matter how much he's dying to propel himself backwards to fill his eager hole up quicker when Steve pulls his cock halfway out just to get back in. It's not enough. He wants _more_. He just wants _more_. He's getting all Steve can give, and he still wants _more_.

He's so tight inside of Bucky that he feels every crevice and muscle constructing and releasing against his nine inches, squeezing and tempting him further into orgasm. Steve would like to believe he'd last longer because he came earlier, but that doesn't seem likely now. Bucky's so tight, so warm, _so fucking nice…_

"Ah, my baby boy," he hisses, hunching forward even more to be right against the shell of Bucky's ear. "You feel so fucking good. Ah, fuck, Bucky. Uhhh," he drawls out and angles himself deeper, right against Bucky's prostate gland, sending them both reeling.

The resistance in Bucky is obvious. He wants to push back and fuck himself off of his sir so badly that it's turning his whole body red to obey. Steve spanks him again and kneads the fat of his ass in his palms, deterring him from doing what he's thinking. A batch of fresh tears spill from Bucky's eyes and descend down his chin and around his jaw. Pathetic little pleads barely escape him around Steve's finger.

"Use your words, love," Steve commands, drawing his thrusts out slower and slinky-like, practically belly rolling so the tip of his cock touches that sweet spot each time he curves inward.

"Sir," Bucky mumbles. "Fuck, Steve. _Fuck, fuck, fuck."_

There's a break in Steve's rhythm at how _broken_ he sounds. "You okay, baby boy? Hmm? Want me to stop?"

Before the question's even out, he's swinging his head back and forth in protest. "No!" he shouts and hangs his head. "I just wanna…just wanna give it to you. Just wanna see your beautiful face, sir. I wanna fuck you back…wanna bounce this ass off of you, sir. Show you how well I can take your dick."

It's almost noble and downright _fucking_ _cute_ how tough Bucky wants to sound but it's kinda hard to take him seriously when he looks like a wreck with a nine inch dick up  
his ass. Steve fights not to laugh by biting his lip and caressing Bucky's hips.

"You wanna switch positions, babe? You don't like this?" He moves an inch and Bucky loses it, teeth chattering and knees wobbling.

"I do, but -"

"But?" Steve interrupts and snickers. "I like fucking you like this, though, baby." He emphasizes his point further by fucking into him harder and faster than he'd been before, gritting his teeth and curling his lips. The brutal assault he unleashes upon Bucky's ass silences them both, rocking the mattress slightly out of the bed frame and knocking into the night table. His body goes on autopilot with his thrusts, sending him way out the control he'd intended.

The unstable nature of Bucky's body reminds Steve how much he needs this and how much of a good boy he's being. He decides to get crafty and surprise Bucky by wrapping both arms around his waist to lift him clean off the bed and leaving him surprised and suspended in air with no support but the confines of Steve's strong arms. Unprepared, Bucky squirms and wraps his right arm around Steve's neck, adjusting to the change fairly quickly and bouncing off of Steve's dick with as much passion as he would've when he was on all fours.

This allows Steve to go even deeper. Neither are complaining.

"_Fuck_!" Bucky screams, elevating and slamming his body down as hard as possible, taking more of Steve in each time his thighs lift and drop in his sir's forearms. "Fucking hell, fucking hell, fucking hell, it's _so_ _big_-"

"Ah, yeah," Steve grunts out, lips still curled with a set jaw, right into his baby boy's ear. "Yeah, baby, feed that greedy little ass. You like being up like this, moaning like a fucking whore? You like fucking your sir like this?"

"Yes," he blurts out, nodding to prove he's telling the truth. His eyes are glued to his flopping, hard, dick that's right in tune with how he's slamming against Steve. Ropes of pre-come are spilling out and going everywhere like on his belly button and right on Steve's carpet.

"_Yes, yes, yes, yes_!" He's chanting while Steve buries his face into Bucky's neck, biting down on the sweat ridden, salty skin, guiding his baby boy's hips up and down around his throbbing cock. It's like they're a machine. They have pieces and functions and it can only work when all parties are willing. They've been more than willing since the second Bucky arrived on Steve's doorstep.

He recalls what Bucky'd told him in the bathroom earlier.

"You like being my little bitch? Look at you ride this dick like a fucking pro."

"Stevie-" he begins but is cut off with a round of groans by the sting of Steve's teeth into his trap muscles.

"You like it, baby?" He continues, licking the skin he'd bitten. "Oh, fuck, Bucky, gon' make me come. _Uhhh_, _fuck_!"

Without fail, Bucky keeps going, encouraged by Steve's praise. "I need you to come in me, sir. _Please_…" He says without even thinking, smacking off of Steve's skin when he tries to latch but slips when their perspiration makes the grip too difficult. Anxious, Bucky tries to stay onto Steve for as long as possible before Steve's own grip begins to fail.

"Steve. _Steve_!" He yelps as though the drop to the floor would be a lot given he's nearly the same height as Steve. He'd mention that, but he remembers that it's play time and Bucky's in baby boy mode, meaning he wants to feel protected and small like he's Steve pet.

"I gotcha, babe," Steve promises and sets his lover onto the bed, pulling out fully for the first time time since they'd began fucking twenty minutes ago. Bucky groans at the loss and twists himself to be on his stomach, facing Steve who is just admiring the mess he'd made of his baby. He's red faced, crumbling, making tiny hurt sounds, and gesturing a grabbing motion to Steve.

"You know the rules by now, baby boy. Use your words. I don't speak 'fucked out whore,'" Steve disciplines, unsure where that statement came from. He liked it enough, and it sent Bucky growling and digging deeper into the mattress. Steve yanks him up and dodges further into the role Bucky pries out of him when he meets their noses and gets his voice as husky possible. They're so close their dicks are touching at the slits.

"Come on my mattress and _I'll spank your ass fucking purple._ But you'd _like_ that, wouldn't you? Hmm?"

Bucky trembles in Steve's grasp. "Yes. I'd like it, sir," he answers, purposely sounding small and young to fuck with Steve's head probably. It may not have been spoken, but they both know that unknowing and childish persona of his gets Steve off faster than his own hand.

"At least you're not lying. You'd probably cry after the first hit, huh? Think you'd able to ride me with a sore ass?"

"Please lemme ride you, sir," he begs, sniffling and running his right hand -the one Steve's gripping- over his sir's face. "Lemme ride your cock till we come. Please. I'll take it like a good boy."

"I know you will, baby," he agrees, kisses Bucky's nose and down to his lips, then lets his arms go. The metal one is as far from him as possible which Steve doesn't like it but doesn't comment as he climbs onto the bed and lays on his back where Bucky'd been. He gets comfy and grabs his cock at its base to stand it straight.

The younger man grins and overlooks him with hungry eyes, stroking his own cock languidly as he plops each leg on each side of Steve's waist. His grey eyes don't tear away from those trusting see baby blues when he sinks lower and lower till his robust ass completely bottoms out on Steve. He'd be a goddamn liar to say this shit didn't fucking hurt. He doesn't even fucking care. The look of astonishment and pride on his sir's face is all the motivation he'd need to ride this cock like it was a bucking bull.  
"Buck, baby," Steve's gasping, lips parted and red from biting them. His eyes are wide from shock and arousal at Bucky sitting clean on his lap with little struggle or complaint. "My baby boy," he says, half coherent, hands keeping Bucky positioned atop of him.

The first rise off of Steve's cock is slow and calculated. Both men gasp and groan aloud at the sensation till he drops back down and sits back into Steve's lap with a plop.

"_Stevie_," he shivers, shutting his eyes and steadying himself with his right hand on Steve's chest while the left holds onto Steve's thigh behind him. The bounce starts off slow but eventually, he finds comfort in almost being split in two and actually begins to ride Steve.

True to his word, he_ rides the living hell_ out of Steve and doesn't censor himself as he does which is pretty bold since his daughter's right down the fucking hall and this apartment building has thin walls and nosy neighbors. The cocky spunk he'd acquired from mounting Steve shone through in the way he jerks and writhes about, taking the dick like a professional. No one would've ever guessed that the bastard was crying and whining the same dick he's working over so well just moments ago. Steve's impressed and digs his nails into Bucky's sides to guide him in the way he wants as he rises and falls obediently around his dick. The slapping of skin keeps going on and on, filling Steve's ears like a symphony each time he slams down into his lap.

The riding and dirty talk last for a healthy and impressive ten minutes before either men start to feel that tingling rush go up their spines. "Fucking hell," Steve cusses and smacks down harder to chase the tinge roaring through his veins, nerves, and muscles. He feels Bucky's ass clamping and stretching around his dick, sending them both throbbing and howling.

"Fuck, _ohhhhh_," Bucky cries to the ceiling and fervently picks up the pace in his hips, rubbing his thighs against Steve's. "Sir, 'm gonna fucking come. Jesus, I, _ohhh_, _fuck_! Gonna fucking come…Steve, please,_ 'm gonna come…"_

Before Bucky has a chance to, Steve takes the initiative and wraps a hand around Bucky's dick to rub it out in tune to the ministrations against Steve's cock. It's red at the tip, spewing line after line of pre-come onto Steve's lower stomach. To get Bucky where he's been dying to be, Steve thrusts upward to meet him halfway.

That gets his eyes wide and swimming with tears. Caught off guard, he looks to Steve who nods as if to say _I'm giving you permission._

"Oh, _no_," he sobs, fingers latched in a vice grip around Steve's pecs. "Holy fuck. Ah, sir, sir, _Stevie_! Baby! _Baby, 'm comin'!_"

It's right when he says that does he go absolutely still, mouth wide like he's yawning and nothing but air comes out. His whole body tenses and goes taut on top of Steve, squeezing what he can to release pressure and energy as thick, white, semen squirts in what looks like buckets onto Steve's stomach and his own. His eyes are glued shut, and crinkling at their corners while his eyebrows knit together with a frown in the middle.

It's a second after he begins spasming that a gush of wind makes its strangled way out of Bucky and he finally squeaks as high pitched and loud as he can, ringing Steve's eardrums and waking up half of Brooklyn.

Steve's stunned by the sound and stills himself when he sees how sensitive and anxious Bucky is in the aftermath of his orgasm. His shakes are tiny, but the weeps are loud and he's gushing for air. His whole body's red and flushed. He's still atop of Steve, so he takes matters into his own hands and wraps them around Bucky. He had to be diplomatic about this or else the other man would detect how uncomfortable he'd made him.

"Shh, baby," he silences him and pets his hair. "Love,_ it's okay_."

"Oh, my god," he whimpers and probably doesn't care that he's laying right in the mess of come he'd ejaculated onto Steve's skin. "Oh, God, Steve,_ I'm sorry._"

Immediately confused, Steve brings his face to Bucky's, encasing him with those strong hands. "What's wrong? Hmm? Tell me? Was I too rough?"

Bucky shakes his head and pouts. "No. You were p-perfect. I didn't wanna come before you. Don't deserve to."

Steve sighs and kisses him harshly. "You don't even realize how much you did deserve it though. You're such a good boy, you know that? You're perfect. Rode me just like you said you could." He places another kiss on Bucky's face. "Bet it felt good to finally come, huh, baby?"

"You always make me feel good, Stevie," he smiles and kisses him back. "_Your_ turn."

Bucky's back atop of Steve like a trophy on a mantel, rocking just he as he was before. Any words of discouragement he was going to use to convince Bucky to just relax and not worry about Steve's orgasm fly right out of his brain when that easy drag of Bucky's ass along his still hard cock sends him moaning again.

"Fuck, baby," he mutters, eyes glued to Bucky's, smirking like the little shit he is at how Bucky's absolutely struggling with how good this feels for him too. He's much too over sensitive what with just coming and barely coming off of that high before putting his body through more pleasure and pain.

"Fuck, that's nice. Feels fucking perfect. Fucking perfect," he repeats over and over, unaware of what he's saying as Bucky rises and falls on him, letting out tiny sounds each time, much to Steve's delight. "Oh, shit…Bucky, _you feel so fucking good_…"

"Sir," he slurs, picking up speed and hanging his mouth open. His refractory period is non existent in the way he's visibly getting harder with each pump in his sir's lap, impressing himself and Steve. "Sir, 'm gonna come _again_."

Judging by the way Bucky's trembling, Steve knows he's just as close as he is. It's a miracle he has enough brain power to even bring their bodies together so Bucky's seated fully forward in his lap, hanging his head over Steve's shoulder. Their breathing syncs, heavy pants and slapping skin filling the room while scratches are left along both of their backs from unreleased tensions in their other limbs. Steve already feels the condom sliding off, but _something_ in him doesn't let him stop to fix it. He's pretty sure Bucky wouldn't mind if he came right in his ass.

"What the fuck," Bucky hisses and grounds harder on Steve, chasing his orgasm along with soothing one out of Steve. "_What the fuck_…holy fuck…fucking shit…fuck._ 'M coming, oh, God!_ Fucking god!"

"_Bucky_," Steve exhales hastily and yelps every swear word in the book when he loses all rhythm in his hips and creatively thrusts his body upward into Bucky, filling the condom and clamping into whatever part of Bucky he can when the height of ecstasy ebbs over his whole body and probably his soul. He's coming at the same time Bucky spills a second load all over himself and Steve. He gives a few last pumps on Steve to milk himself and Steve through the orgasm, before giving out slack, and falling sideways to lay lifeless in the mattress. Their legs are tangled, their chests are heaving, and they're trying to make good on not falling asleep before the other.

They lay like that for a good two minutes before Steve foolishly begins to giggle, gets the rest of the condom off, ties it, and chucks it in his bedside waste basket. His laugh isn't necessarily over anything funny, but it's contagious. Bucky begins to chuckle too and runs a hand through his hair. Not before long, they're laughing till their sides hurt and neither are sure why.

A moment later, Steve takes Bucky's hand to lead him back to the bathroom for a second clean up. The younger man sits on the toilet again while Steve gets a cloth and warms it with hot water.

"Have fun?" asks Steve when he rings out the cloth and wipes down Bucky before doing himself. Bucky smirks.

"Two orgasms on our first time? Not bad. The dirty talk suits you."

Steve'd be lying if he said it didn't slightly bother him that it didn't bother him that he used such language. He didn't know how uneasy it'd make him feel to call Bucky what he had until afterwards. Well, he liked it. Bucky did, too. He'd have to get used to it. It should be easy to get back in the swing of things after eight years. It's like riding a bike or memorizing a song - it's impossible to forget.

"Thanks," he mutters and puts the cloth in the hamper on his way out the bathroom. "You've got quite a mouth on you, too."

After getting a pair of pajama pants from the drawer and tossing Bucky a pair, he plops on his bed with a loud thud, but gets right back up when he remembers to get sheets from the linen closet. Bucky watches him and frowns a little, obviously still feeling a little uneasy about messing up the sheets before.

Steve catches the look and rolls his eyes playfully. "I'm not mad about the sheets," he assures him and tosses a side of the sheet to Bucky to help him cover the bed faster. "You can stop pouting about it now."

"I really didn't mean to mess up your sheets," he insists and tucks the sheets under the mattress nearly. "I can get you new ones."

"No, babe. It was an accident, like you said-"

"_Trust me,"_ he interjects and puts a hand up to Steve. "I'll feel a helluva lot better if I just buy you new ones. Think of it as a something to remind you of the first time we had sex. Seems pretty special, huh? What couple remembers the first time they had sex?"

The logic doesn't seem to make any sense, but Steve nods anyway. "Whatever," he hums and stops in his tracks to look up at Bucky with wide eyes and a increasing heart rate. "Wait, what'd you say?"

Bucky stops too. "Huh?"

"You just said that couples don't remember the first time they have sex," he repeats and unfolds the thick comforter.

The brunet eyes him harder and cocks a confused eyebrow. "Yeah. _And_?"

It's almost animated the way Steve's whole aura lightens and glows with rays as bright as sunshine. His cheeks are probably red as fuck and rounded like a little boy's while his eyes are huge, cartoon, and glossy with admiration for the man before him.

Bucky looks around like he'd missed something. "What?" he says quickly.

"You think of us as a couple?"

The question throws Bucky off. "Um, _yeah_," he answers and takes one end of the comforter to throw over the bed. "We're together all the time. We're not really seeing anyone else, right? I mean, we go on a lot of dates. My kid's in love with you. Don't you think it's a little passed due to drop the '_b_' word?"

Steve grins stupidly, feeling fifteen again. "Boyfriend," he finally says just to try it out, and Bucky flashes him that sideways smile that melts his heart every time.

"Yeah," he agrees, looking off to a random corner of the room before meeting Steve's big, expecting eyes. "_Boyfriend_. Even though we kinda just consummated our relationship," he says and gestures to the bed, "I figure it's still polite to ask, huh?"

Nostalgic waves flash through Steve's feelings. He feels light and airy, carefree like he used be as a child before he came to terms with how sick he really was. He could fly away on a cloud right to heaven with Bucky guiding the way to see the face of God Himself with how happy he is at this moment. Maybe it's a big exaggerated, but Steve's been by himself for almost a decade. He'd never think he'd _ever_ feel this again.

_Ever_.

"Is there _something_ you'd like to ask me, Bucky?" He prompts suggestively, dropping the pillow and stalking towards the other man with a sheepish smile.

Bucky grins coyly and gets Steve's hands in his when he's close enough, metal arm forgotten. "So, um, we've been seeing each other quite a while, and we might as well make it official. I wanted to ask you in a cuter way that this, but now is as good time as any. So, um, be my guy? Be my boyfriend?"

Steve could die at how hopeful he sounds, and he knows he'd die a happy man.

"Yes," he replies and nods.

Bucky turns into a cartoon now. "Really?"

"Yes, dumbass. Now, c'mere…" he mutters and pulls Bucky's hips forward to plant a willing kiss on his baby boy's lips. Bucky obliges and smiles within the kiss when his own hands encase around Steve's waist.

They stood there just kissing and grinning and being lovestruck idiots for about five minutes - maybe more. Who knows? They've lost track of any concept of time. It's like that or anything else doesn't exists. It really doesn't even they're in each other's arms like this. Steve keeps kissing him harder and harder, keeping him safe in his arms even after Bucky pulls away to breathe.

"What's today's date?" He asks, nose nudged against Steve's.

"October twelfth," he answers. "Technically the thirteenth, actually. Why?"

"So I can remember when our anniversary comes up," Bucky tells him and leans forward for another kiss. "Y'know 'cus you're _my boyfriend_ now."

"Yeah, I am," he agrees and tosses the younger man onto the bed and his body thuds in protest against the box springs. "And now that it's official, we should get you a shirt that says_ 'if found, return to Steve Rogers,'_" he continues and hovers his body over Bucky's teasingly and dips down in a push up to kiss him softly. Bucky laughs at his joke and rolls over to be on his stomach.

"But I'm still buying you new sheets," he groans tiredly as an afterthought which makes Steve rolls his eyes in annoyance this time.

"No, you're not, babe. They're _just_ sheets," Steve insists and hits his shoulder.

"You saying that isn't gonna deter me from getting you more. I really do feel bad about it."

"Why?"

Bucky doesn't say anything for some long moments, and Steve thinks he might've fallen asleep already, but his eyes are wide open when the blond looks over at him. They suddenly droop sadly when they lock with Steve's and for a split second they water, but no tears are shed.

"Tell me, baby," Steve encourages but Bucky bites his lips and stays silent. A lock of hair settles on his eyelashes, but Steve puts it behind Bucky's ear.

"Is it about earlier? 'Bout how you thought I'd -?

Bucky nods before he can finish. Steve's lips become a hard line.

"You gotta help me understand."

Bucky nods again and pouts.

"It was Xavier," he announces after a minute of silence.

_That's obvious_. "Yeah?"

"Back when we used to mess around, we tried different stuff like BDSM and orgasm denial," he confesses, not meeting Steve's eyes. "He, ugh, used to hit me across my face or with a belt if I came before him or if he caught me touching myself," he explained, shook his head shamefully, and set his jaw but still went off.

"Said my orgasms and my body belonged to him, and if I denied him of that, he'd punish me. And I'm young, so I'm romanticizing _everything_ he's doing to me, thinking it's supposed to be that way. I remember he took it too far one night when my mom and sister were out and beat the living fuck out of me because I came all over his bedsheets from jerking off. And for so damn long, he'd put that thought in my head," he recalls, tapping two fingers to his temple, "I actually believed him when he told me I'd deserved it. That's why when earlier I did what I did, I lapsed into that anxiety attack. For a second, I _really_ believed that you should do what he did because I deserved it. I don't know. Pretty stupid."

"You're not stupid."

"I shouldn't've did that to you. Must've put you in a pretty uncomfortable situation," he apologizes and covers his face. Steve envelops him and kisses his forehead. He has no clue how to digest that info. It makes sense now, but he didn't know what to do with it.

"Hey, Buck?"

"Yeah?" He croaks.

"Can I tell you something? Before we get this official boyfriend relationship shit going?"

"Sure."

Steve inhales and sighs hugely. "I need you to know that I haven't felt any way about anybody else the way I feel about you in the last eight years. I need you to know that now that you're mine, I'm not letting you go, okay?"

"Yes, Steve," he replies lovingly as well as compliantly.

"And I also need you to know that _no matter what,_ I'm _never_ ever going to ever deliberately hurt you. Whether it's with my words or physically. Ever. I don't have it in me to hit you, or anybody actually, so please don't ever ever think you have to be afraid of me. If there's one thing I want between us, it's openness. Don't cry at night or go to bed angry. I'm here._ I'm always here._ You know where to find me.

"And please, don't hesitate and think I'll judge you for whatever's happened in your past. Because I won't. I don't have room to. I know it's scary. I fucking know it's scary, but just trust me, okay? Give me that, and I'll do the rest. Okay?"

Bucky's silent again, but Steve knows he's not asleep. He continues to lays on his back and stare at the spinning ceiling fan - a little thrown off by how much of his heart he'd just poured out - till Bucky's lips cover his own in a gentle peck.

"When I was in Iraq," he suddenly says and kisses Steve again. "Nat wrote me hella letters about how much she missed me and loved me, and it was always really nice that she'd managed to not forget me entirely. She always signed and ended each letter same with this little phrase."

Unsure of where this was going and how it related to the monumental speech Steve just given, he nods anyway and holds Bucky tighter to his body. "What was the phrase?"

Bucky chuckles at a memory. "_I'm with you till the end of the line,_" he tells him and smiles brightly against the darkness of the bedroom. "Don't know where she'd picked it up, but after she'd died, I started saying it to Mischka in Russian."

"Yeah?"

"Yup. The phrase rarely used to make any sense to me because there was this part of me that wasn't in tune with being in love properly," he says and scrunches his expression up in frustration. "It makes sense to a certain extent. Everything you said makes sense. You're with me till the end of the line. _Right_?"

Steve kisses his boyfriend hard with excessive tongue until a heated moan comes out of both of their mouths. He doesn't know where he'd gotten the nerve and rush to want to kiss him so badly, but the electric currents never been stronger. Maybe he does it 'cus he knows he can.

"That answer your question?" He quips and Bucky's probably never smiled so proudly at anyone who wasn't Natasha or Mischka before. Not before long, they find themselves in the same mix up they were in earlier with tangled limbs, loud moans, ass slapping and sweating. The second time is at nice as the first. Both men have no complaints in earning a couple more orgasms each till it's three in the morning, and they're spent with not even Carter scratching at the door to disturb them.


	11. 11

The men barely get an hour of sleep in when before they awake next. It's nearing four in the morning when Bucky gets up and attempts to sneakily puts his clothes back on without disturbing Steve. That plan doesn't play out when he cusses aloud at getting his jeans zipper stuck on his underwear. Steve's a light sleeper, so he awakes in an instant, ready for trouble but is instead met with a half dressed Bucky who, arguably, can be the same thing.

He smiles, but it doesn't reach Bucky the way he'd intended. His face is hesitant and regretful, like he's done some bad shit and is caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Why's he getting dressed anyway?

Steve raises a brow and yawns. "Where'r you going? Y'know the whole boyfriend thing means you're allowed to stay the entire night," he jokes, chuckling to himself and hoping Bucky will join in, but he doesn't. The brunet just sighs and fixes his zipper and scans the room for his shirt with that same guilty expression. It alarms Steve immediately.

Did he do something wrong? God, he knew was too rough with him! Shouldn't have called him a whore - _that wasn't polite._ Or maybe he regrets the boyfriend thing? Is it about the sheets? Xavier? He didn't want Bucky to skip out on him because he'd made him uncomfortable. He could fix this. He just needed Bucky to stay. _Just stay..._

Steve swallows hard and is about to make another joke to ease their nerves - more his than Bucky's- when the other man pipes up with a humorless chuckle.

"Um," he starts and swallows hard. "I gotta go."

"What? Where?"

Bucky finds his shirt and pulls it over his head. "Work called."

Steve before tonight would've passively nodded his head and accepted the secrecy because who was he but Bucky's friend that he occasionally fucked around with? He had no right before. He had no grounds to dig his nose in Bucky's business and demand a damn thing. Yeah, he could sit there and be angry and fume about Bucky not trusting him enough to tell him something as simple as what the fuck he does for a living, but tonight he wasn't. He_ just fucking wasn't._

He's fought too hard and been alone too long to allow the first person he's let into his life slip away. He'll be damned if he thinks Bucky's gonna get away _that_ easy.

"Oh, yeah?" Steve scoffs bitterly and sits up with his legs swung over the bed to have his feet stably on the ground. "_Work_, huh?"

His passive aggressive tone doesn't go unnoticed. Bucky's actions for dressing himself are slowing as his eyes flick to his less than enthused boyfriend who looks as sardonically happy as any little shit could be.

"Yeah," he replies quietly and tucks a sock on.

Steve shakes his head with a sigh and wipes his eyes of crust. _Be rational, Rogers,_ he tells himself.

"Where'd do you work, Buck?" He finally asks.

Bucky gets his other sock on and nonchalantly shrugs, but Steve's known him too long now to be fooled by any persona he has up his sleeve. Whatever he can dish out, Steve can handle and counteract. He's about half the person he was when he met Bucky. There's a nature in him now. It's dominant, telling him to protect what's his all the while defending himself and not to let himself end up how he did _last_ time.

"Why's that even relevant?"

"It seems only fair. _You_ know what _I_ do."

"I'd love to have this talk with you, babe, but I really gotta go. I'm already late," Bucky insists calmly and slips his shoes on one as a time before patting his pockets down to make sure he has his phone then heading to the door. In his eyes, the conversation is over, but it's already just begun for Steve. He knows he should let it go, but there's that _something_ in him telling him to _push, push, fucking push. _

The older man pops up and blocks Bucky's path to the door, smiling just as sarcastically as he was before, internally going insane at the thought of Bucky walking out that that door without telling him the truth. He won't admit he's afraid Buck won't come back if he allows him to leave.

Bucky rolls his eyes and tries to glide passed him, but Steve doesn't allow it. "Steve, c'mon. Not now. Can this wait till I get back?"

"Oh, you were planning to come back?"

"Ha fucking ha," he deadpans and pouts childishly, using those lashes to bat back at Steve to get him to go easy on him. "Stevie, just lemme go, alright? I'll explain _everything_ later."

He sounds desperate, almost needy. Everything within Steve is telling him to just let Bucky go on to work and hold him to his word in telling him everything he wants to know. But, there's a resistance. He needs to know the truth now before he lets his baby boy go off to God knows where. So, he denies him access to the door and frowns seriously to show he's the farthest thing from happy and no tricks are gonna work.

"Why not now?" He continues. "I've waited pretty long to know."

"So that means you can wait another few hours," he replies smartly and tries for the door but Steve's too quick and determined to let him go anywhere. Bucky grumbles and crosses his arms over his chest, phone in one hand and a fist in the other. "Steve,-" he starts, but is cut off.

"I don't see why it's such a _big_ _deal_ to just tell me. What are you, scared I'll disapprove or something? You know me at all? Have I _ever_ judged you?"

Bucky licks his dry lips slowly, reads Steve over and for a moment, and he looks like he'll finally tell him. In a split second, he changes his mind and shakes his head.

"Nah, I can't."

Steve scoffs, offended. "Why?"

That strong demeanor of his doesn't break. "Just can't."

"You're being childish."

"Big talk for someone whose a second away from throwing a fit, guarding the door because he can't get what he want," Bucky spits out, gratingly, eyeing Steve up and down, patronizing him. That earns another scoff from Steve but it's out of disbelieving humor at what he'd just said. He's gonna need some time to process that just happened, but he has more than enough sassy retorts to deal with Bucky if _that's_ how he wants the conversation to go.

"Since when is it so childish and wrong to ask what the person I'm dating what they do for a living?" He laughs, and touches his hand to Bucky's chest, referring to him. "Shit, that's literally one of the first things you learn about someone when you meet them. At this point, it seems ridiculous that I have to pry it out of you like pulling teeth. If anyone is being childish here, it's _you_, m'dear."

The other man obviously wasn't ready to be outsmarted like that. As a result, he just rolls his eyes over and over again till they don't meet Steve's anymore. Steve thinks he's finally at a loss and desperate to escape that he'll tell him, so he coaxes something more out of him to make him feel more comfortable. It must be something really low like cleaning up animals at a zoo for him to be _so_ _hesitant_ to tell Steve.

"'Member what I said earlier about _openness_?"

Bucky nods.

"Well, I meant it. Just tell me. How bad could it be?"

The silence between Steve saying that and Bucky's outburst is like the three seconds before a bomb goes off and destructs everything in its path. Well, Steve wouldn't call it an outburst. It's more of a tantrum - a red faced, glossy eyed, fussy tantrum. He's not sure _when exactly_ he'd pissed Bucky off to this point of agitation, but whenever it was, it was not a pretty aftermath.

"Why don't we just get down to the nitty gritty of it all, Steve," he suddenly shouts, way louder than he was a second ago. It startles Steve because it's so uncalled for, but now Bucky's rambling before he can tell him to quiet the fuck down. "Let's just get way below the surface and just be honest, like you wanted, huh? You only wanna know what I do so much because you don't trust me, do you?" He growls and runs his hands over his face to stop tears and get his hair out of his face.

"N-no," he mumbles and narrows his eyes at his boyfriend, searching for some sort of code or explanation as to why the fuck this is such a big deal all of a sudden. Steve's stunned. He truly didn't mean to upset Bucky...

"Then why do you need to know so badly?" He asks defensively.

This is ridiculous. In fact, Steve's almost a little angry rather than unhappy.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to hide _something_. I'd even go as far to say that you're lying about going to '_work_'" - he uses air quotes - "to cover up something else. What is it, Buck? Huh? You're a gambler? You sell drugs? What the fuck is it?"

"It's none of that shit, alright?" He shoots back with as much fire. "Just need you to trust me on this."

"_Trust_ you?" Steve exclaims incredulously and shakes his face as though to clear his thoughts. "Come to think of it - Why should I trust you? All you do is sneak around and hide the truth from me, and _you expect me to trust you_?"

At this point, red is flashing before Steve's eyes. He sees danger, but he can't seem to just shut up. All he can recall of even staring at the man before him is him dancing with that nobody at Hyrda and those texts he got from Brock Rumlow that incriminated him to a fault.

"Is there _someone _else?" He demands and Bucky's eyes widen at the obscene suggestion. "Is there? You need to go see boyfriend number two right now, so you're lying and saying you need to work?"

"No!" Bucky shouts furiously, most likely seeing as much red as Steve. "No, it's not even like that-"

"Or am _I_ boyfriend number two and you need to rush back to your main squeeze?"

"It's not like-"

"Then what's it like? You oughta tell me now before I really start to reconsider whatever it is we have. I don't date liars. Been there and done that. Tell me the truth, or I'm ending this before it even gets started."

It's an empty threat. Neither Steve or Bucky expected him to come right out and say that, but it hangs in the air like an odor making Bucky's face scrunch up liked he'd cry. As heartbreaking as it is, Steve doesn't give in and cut the man some slack when the white of his eyes turn red and water up. It really could've been a conversation for later - and if Bucky really had to go to work, he's probably late now - but Steve had to know _now_. He needs to know _now_. He has to protect himself in a way he didn't last time that left him vulnerable and hurt. He does trust Bucky, but he refuses to end up the way he did before.

Bucky's at a lost for words for once in his life. His mouth hangs open with his jaw twisting about to find words to say, but he's stumped. He can't believe Steve just said that anymore than Steve can believe he did. It was pretty hurtful, and maybe it was an overreaction, but Steve stands by it.

It's about five minutes later, and seeing as though neither are going to respond, Steve decides to move out of the way of the door. Bucky doesn't move at first, simply watches him like a kicked puppy to see if he's testing him. He doesn't even make eye contact for a number of reasons, but the number one being he's got tears of his own forming at how difficult this turned out to be. Okay, so Bucky didn't trust him. That's fine - he could always find someone who does.

"Sir," he slurs sadly and reaches out to touch the blond, but Steve jerks himself away like he'd been burned and faces his back to him.

"That's not gonna work, Buck," he tells him and sits on the edge of the bed. "You're more than welcome to leave to go to work or be with your other boyfriend or whatever, though."

Steve doesn't even look up from his fingernails. He knows if he does, he'll see Bucky absolutely heartbroken and that's an image he _doesn't_ _need_ making him feel guilty at night. So, his head stays low and he feels Bucky's presence there for a while longer till eventually the door opens and closes with a sharp slam.

It's not till he's all by himself and reviewing the confrontation that he realizes he pulled a dickhead move and probably lost the best thing that's ever happened to him because of his own insecurities. To ease his conscience, he reminds himself that he probably would have felt worse if he let Bucky walk out without confrontation. Knowing that he stood up for himself makes him feel a sliver of a bit better even if he did risk his first relationship in years.

"Fuck," he bites out and tosses a pillow at the close bedroom door. He curses a few more times before going out into the hallway to go check on Mischka. If Bucky hasn't taken her when he left then he must be coming back. That's pretty hopeful.

His breath regulates when he peeks in on the guest room and sees she's still sound asleep despite the ruckus they'd been causing all night. Carter's right on his heels, following anxiously when he paces around his apartment.

_Wow_, he thinks to himself. He's done a fair share of dumb shit in his thirty two year lifespan, like picking fights with people twice his size and having poor Sarah Rogers worry if he'd make it home most nights, but_ this_ probably takes the cake. The skinny punk with a heart of gold still lives deep within him and whoever the hell just did what he did _was not that punk._

He had no idea where that'd came from. He could defend his behavior, but he'd have a difficult time agreeing with his own logic. The fact of the matter is that he'd most likely really hurt Bucky's feelings and put him in an uneasy headspace for working if that's really where he was headed.

_Was it really that big of a deal, Rogers?_ Carter seems to be saying as she watches him closely from her spot on the couch.

Steve narrows his eyes at the animal and blushes sheepishly. "Don't you have a bone to bury?" He teases and runs a hand over his tired face even though he knows she's right. "Okay, it was a big deal when it happened. It made me a little mad. I'm allowed to be mad, right? Why's he gotta be so sneaky?"

_Ever think that maybe he didn't wanna tell you because he's ashamed?_

Steve scoffs at himself. "Yeah, that could be one reason."

_Or maybe he wanted to tell you, but you jumped to all the worst conclusions and accosted him to the point where he was just scared._

"Yeah, that's another one..." He agrees and rubs the back of his neck.

_You could've just waited till he got back?_

_You were being a little pushy._

_Dick move. You're lucky if he even comes back..._

"_I got it_!" He exclaims at the couch, expecting to be met with Carter's doggish smirk, but the animal is on her back, fast asleep. Of course, he's become so attached to this godforsaken apartment, he has full on conversations _with himself_ and conscious out of sheer insanity. He groans aloud and slumps adjacent to Carter, casually checking his watch every other minute. It's time to play the waiting game. In all actuality, Bucky's only been gone ten minutes and it's barely four o' clock when Steve gives in and picks up his cell phone to call him. The other line is ringing, yet there's no answer. He'd predicted that much since most employers don't allow employees to use phones on the job. Even if Bucky were out cheating on him, he probably wouldn't answer. Even if he were neither working or cheating, he'd most most likely not answer out of anger. He calls a second time and let's the phone ring before hanging up and sighing patiently.

"God, I'm an idiot," he huffs and calls a third time to leave a message this time. "Hey, Buck," he says sheepishly into the receiver when the voicemail recording begins. "It's Steve," he sighs and hangs his head. "Baby, I'm sorry I lost my temper," he continues, and plays around this the hem of his shirt. "Just- I apologize, love. Please call me back when you hear this."

Steve hangs up before he can give the world's longest testimony on why he's a terrible human being for being so mean to Bucky. Any person with half a brain could tell that wasn't true, but because Steve is Steve and he's selfless as all fuck, he'd believe it. Not to confuse himself, he duly reminds himself that he stands by what he'd said but the execution wasn't ideal. Yeah, he could've been nicer but any nicer, and that would've made him a pushover.

The next half an hour passes slowly. It's an hour till the sun comes up which is reassuring. It's the official start of a new day, and maybe a fresher start for Steve and Bucky if Bucky can forgive him. He'd been pacing around his apartment, uselessly tidying up when the place is already spotless just the distract him from whatever Buck could be doing. It's driving him mad to not know if he's safe and if he's still hurt by what Steve said. Hopefully, he'll be home soon so they can freshen up, have breakfast, and talk like reasonable adults.

By four - thirty, Steve's finished two panels of his latest assignment. They're not very good since he's heavily distracted and has scrapped multiple story lines and crumpled them up to be thrown away. He tells himself he should probably wait to work, but sketching is the only thing keeping him from calling Bucky again. He already feels bad enough and his work shouldn't suffer for it, but he can't call Sam or Darcy this early. Sam usually wakes up at five something to get ready for work, and Darcy's not in the office till eight. If Bucky weren't back by then, he'd feel compelled to call either one for a shoulder to cry on.

"Nope," he growls and rips the sheet of paper he'd been coloring on from his leather drawing book. It ends up a crumbled mess in the corner along with his other drawings. "Nope, nope, nope."

Another fifteen minutes goes by without a word from anybody. Mischka won't be up for hours and the sun doesn't even look close to peeking out just yet. Steve sighs and gets himself a glass of water from the kitchen that he drinks anxiously within twenty seconds. The remainder of the hour is spent with more cleaning and terrible sketches and worrying. He checks in on Mischka once or twice before taking Carter on a brief walk. It's five when he gets back in his apartment and slouches on the sofa with the news on mute. Sleep seems like a suitable and healthy idea until his phone finally rings after what feels like days, and he quickly remembers why he'd even been staying up. His heart slows and picks up at the same time when he takes a glance at his phone on the coffee table.

Sure enough, Bucky's name with the heart eyed emoticons flashes on his screen, and without hesitation, he accepts and doesn't even wait for a hello.

"Hey, you got my message," he says as casually as possible to avoid making anything awkward as well as calming Bucky down if he's still upset. "Look, I'm sorry about how I acted, okay? It's understandable if you're still mad at me, but I'd really rather talk this through in person. Is that okay with you?"

The other line is quiet for a long moment. Steve checks if he'd hung up by accident, but he hadn't. He's about to repeat himself but the weakest mewl cuts through the line.

"Stevie," he seems to be whining. "_Sir_," he continues, almost begging but Steve rolls his eyes because he knows that tone all too well by now.

"That's not gonna work. _You_ _know that._ Babying your way out of this -"

"Stevie," he repeats brokenly, louder this time. "_Stevie_..."

Steve stops. "Yes?" he responds slowly and sits up on the sofa, suddenly alert at how Bucky's drawling out his name with little passion rather than how he does when he wants something out of Steve. Both voices sound the same, but the one he's using right now isn't right. Nothing about it seems to scream Bucky at all.

"_Stevie_," he says again and Steve is at high attention when he sniffles and groggily uses what's left of his voice. "Stevie, I fucked u-up...I fucked up, and_ I n-need you._"

_That_ gets him to his feet. Anything he'd been thinking about before flies right out the window.

Something is wrong.

Something's_ not right._

"Bucky?" He says stupidly to be perfectly sure it's his boyfriend on the other line instead of a wrong number.

"_Stevie_," he slurs and there's some more sniffles on his end before a full on fit of tears fill the quiet apartment and Steve's ears. "Stevie, I need you. It _hurts_..."

Panic tries to get the better of Steve, but he doesn't allow it when he attempts to get his breathing back on track. He's confused and worried doesn't even cover what he's feeling, but staying absolutely calm is the only way he'd get to the bottom of whatever the hell he's about to get involved in.

"What hurts, babe? Hmm? Talk to me," he demands as he swiftly rushes to his bedroom with Carter hot on his heels. "Bucky, tell me what's going on."

"I'm so sorry," he cries tiredly and sniffles rapidly. "God, _I'm sorry._ It _hurts_. I'm sorry."

"No, no, no," Steve says reassuringly as he gets clothes on. "Bucky, tell me where you are. I'm coming for you."

Instead of answering coherently, the man on the other line cries harder and coughs harshly, barely breathing. Steve coos into the phone to settle him, but it's a bit difficult to do when he has no clue what's going on except that his baby boy's hurting. His heart races likes he's just ran a marathon at the mere thought of it. His body is on a Sir autopilot without even registering what he's saying before it's said and doing before he can think of his actions. His instincts are telling him to get Bucky the fuck out, wherever he may be.

"Buck, baby, I need you to calm down. Can you do that?" He tries and leans against a wall to steady himself. He won't be much help to Bucky if he passes out.

"I'm sorry," he keeps saying. "_It hurts._.."

Steve groans and scatters his brain for a distressed boyfriend protocol. He sounds drunk, but Steve knows that's the _least_ of things that are going on with Bucky right now.

"Baby, what hurts? Tell me where you are."

"He put it in," he barely answers with chattering teeth and unsteady breaths. "_Put_ it in and _hurt_ me."

None of that makes any sense, but Steve tries not to assume the worst. He swallows hard and searches his room frantically for his motorcycle keys. "Baby," he says.

"Stevie, p_lease come get me._..don't want him to hurt me again..."

"Where are you, baby?"

Bucky seems to panic at being asked that. His tears falls harder and his yelp don't subside no matter how hard Steve tries to shush him. "I-_I don't know._ He was _here_. He _tried_ to hurt me..."

"Bucky," he says sternly to grab his attention but Bucky avidly begins to ramble in run on and slurred sentences.

"_I don't know,_ Stevie," he whimpers and sniffles. "It's dark. I went home with him, and he -" he hiccups. "- he hurt me. Made me hurt him. I didn't want it. _Want you. Only you. I'm sorry._"

Steve accepts that in moderation without getting angry. It's about getting his boyfriend to safety first, and as hurt as he feels, his love and care for Bucky's well-being top that any day. "Tell me where you are."

He can feels the younger man getting frustrated and upset with himself for being the opposite of informative. "I don't know. I don't _fucking_ know. It's dark. It's_ so dark_, Stevie, you can't even imagine..."

Steve huffs. "Baby, I can't come get you if I don't know where you are. Ya gotta help me find you so I can take care of you."

"_Take care._.." he echoes, understanding. "Take care of your boy..."

"Yeah, that's it. Can you at least comprehend your surroundings? Do you remember _anything_?"

Bucky swallows hard and there's a shuffling noise in his background. "Can't move," he sniffles and whines aloud like a newborn out the womb. "Stevie, _I can't move_. I can't m-move and there's a mess...he made a mess and left me. _Please_...

"I begged but he left me...he put it in and left me...he's not you, Stevie," he goes on and in those moments of unrealized confession, Steve freezes and listens hard at what could be Bucky's final words if he doesn't move fast enough.

"Oh, God, Stevie...Sir, I'm sorry..._I'm not good._..been bad... _Hurts_ so much. I _need_ you to get me..."

"I've got you. Just calm down, baby. Tell me where you are."

"Not with you," he replies bluntly and weeps hoarsely. "I should be with you...shouldn't have left you..."

Asking Bucky his location is gonna get them absolutely nowhere. He could take his chances by riding around and searching for him, but that'd take hours. He'd never reach him in time if something were to happen. As much as Steve wants to protect his baby boy right now, he's useless in his apartment. Steve doesn't even realize he's about to cry. All the worst scenarios play out in his head before his train of thought conjures up the most convenient idea he's had all night. Bucky sounds so helpless, but he doesn't have to be.

"Hey! Buck, can you hear me?"

"_Stevie_..."

"Alright, babe, first things first: wherever you are, you need to get out of there, okay?"

"Can't move..." he begins to say, but Steve sternly shakes his head.

"No, I need you to get out _now_. It's not safe wherever you are. Just listen to me, baby boy. I know it hurts, but I can't help you if you don't get outta there."

He prays the use of his favorite nickname will penetrate through whatever state Bucky's in enough for him to get himself to safety. His hope in a baby boy following his sir's orders will save him till Steve can come and get him.

"I'm _sorry_..." he weeps harder and there's more shuffling on the other end, like he's dragging his body across the ground. "Stevie, he wasn't _you_..."

"It's okay, baby," he lies and puts the call on speaker so he can browse his smartphone for a specific app. "Baby, you listening?"

"I hear you," he responds and pauses with minimal sniffles. "_I love you_."

Steve freezes and stares at his phone for a second to make sure he's heard what he thought he'd did. "Bucky," he tries to grab the man's attention, but he goes on in his intoxicated state.

"No, really, Stevie..._I love you_. A whole bunch. Y-ya so perfect. Perfect. _I love you,_" the other man coughs and wheezes. "Love you so much. You're mine...mine...perfect...make me feel good..._would_ _never_ hurt me...right?"

It takes a moment for Steve to adjust and calculate that. He's stunned and horrified and sad and overjoyed at that same time. It's bittersweet that this truth came out under such circumstances, but before he can get too excited, he has to deal with the issue at hand. Not to say that Bucky is the issue, but whatever he's going through and the position he's put himself in is.

"That's right, baby," he agrees and clicks on the tracking app when he finds it. "Wouldn't ever hurt you. You hear me?"

"Yes, s-sir...hear you..."

"Okay," Steve says into the phone and exhales slowly. "I need you to do something for me so I can come get you. That sound good?"

"_Yes_..." he answers meekly and sniffles.

"Do you remember when you were telling me about getting Mischka a cell phone for her next birthday?"

Bucky's silence is unsettling but there's eventually another shuffling sound and a wispy "yeah," on the other line. Steve barely breathes but keeps talking anyway.

"Okay, and remember that app I suggested you put on there? The parental tracking app in case something happens?"

"Y-yes..."

"Remember we downloaded it to your phone? What I need you to do is go to your apps and open it. Can you do that?"

There's more silence and a distant moaning sound which Steve concludes is from Bucky trying to move. The only thing to be heard is Bucky's heavy breathing and labored whines - which internally drive Steve crazy - before he speaks up again. "F-found it," he tells him.

"Okay, good," Steve says, relived they're getting somewhere. "Opened it?"

"Y-yes. Now what...?"

Steve pressed the green button shaped like an arrow on his screen and reads the pop up, requesting which phone number he needs to track. He presses Bucky's contact and a spiraling wheel indicating its wait for confirmation on Bucky's end appears.

"Okay, Bucky, you should be getting a notification that says something along the lines of accepting a tracking request. I need you to approve it," he explains slowly and simply, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything he needs before leaving.

"Approve it..." Bucky repeats in understanding and there's a hint of hope in his voice when he reads aloud: "_Stevie would like to track your phone. Accept or deny_...now w-what?"

Steve stares at his phone as he walks down the hall to get Mischka up. His phone chimes and immediately starts to track where Bucky is. Relief washes over him for a split second till the app flashes an address in Brownsville. It's not far from Steve's apartment here in Brooklyn Heights, but it ain't the _safest_ place to be. Seeing now exactly how much danger Bucky is in, Steve moves a mile a minute to get to him as fast as possible before someone can take advantage of the situation and hurt his baby boy more than he is now.

"S-saved your name in m'phone as _Stevie_. S'okay, right? It's cute..." Bucky goes and chuckles breathlessly. "Yer Stevie..._my_ _Stevie_..."

Within minutes, he's awakened Mischka long enough to pass her off to his and Bucky's favorite and trusted neighbor, Kitty, she sometimes help the little girl with her homework or babysits when Clint is busy - explaining it was a dire emergency and that he's very apologetic for waking her at such an ungodly hour. She understood and took the child into her apartment with the promise that Steve will keep her informed on whatever's happening.

"You still with me, Buck?" he makes sure, jogging two steps at a time out of the apartment building to get to Peggy and onto Sam's place.

"Yes, sir... Buck...I'm Buck...I'm _your_ Bucky..."

"That you are," he agrees and mounts Peggy. "I'm gonna be there soon, okay? I'm gonna keep you on the phone, but I can't talk and ride at the same time."

Bucky makes a sound to show he understands. "Not gonna leave me..."

"Fuck no," Steve blurts out and tucks his phone into his jacket pocket. "I'm coming, baby," he says to ease himself more than Bucky and off into the still calm before the storm of Saturday morning Brooklyn he goes to Sam's place a handful of miles away. He knows he should've called beforehand to warn Sam, but in all the panic of making sure Bucky's still with him, it didn't occur to him. Luckily, when Steve pulls up to Sam's brownstone, his best friend is walking down the stairs to his car parked across the street, probably on his way to work.

He carelessly parks his motorcycle in the curb and jogs towards Sam, probably flushed, teary eyed and sweating right through his shirt.

"Steve-?" Sam says when he sees him and the ghost of whatever smirk and smartass comment he was about to say disappears and is replaced by narrowed eyes and a weary frown when he examines his best friend's current state. "What's the matter? Why-"

"I need a ride. Bucky, er, James is in trouble. I need to get to him," he explains pleadingly and heads for Sam's truck before he even responds.

Sam's right behind him, keys in hand, unlocking the vehicle with a click. "Trouble? What kinda trouble? What's going on?" He asks frantically all at once as he climbs into the driver's side and starts the ignition. Steve gets his phone from his jacket to check if the line is still connected.

"No fucking clue," he answers tightly and presses the phone to his ear and relaxes in the slightest when he hears Bucky's heavy breathing. "This is the address," he tells Sam and begins to put it into the navigation system as they zoom at the speed of light out the parking spot down the road. It's still pretty quiet in the neighborhood and the sun is creeping up, turning the October sky an enjoyable, pastel mixture of pinks and oranges. Steve wishes he had the focus to appreciate it, but the sky could be fucking cheetah print and he couldn't care less if Bucky wasn't safe to see it with him.

"We had a fight," Steve says after a moment and takes note of how tight Sam is gripping the steering wheel as he jets through Brooklyn like a NASCAR racetrack. Even with as fast as they're going, risking getting Sam a ticket, he finds himself breathing right for the first time since Bucky'd called him. "I said some dumb shit and he left. Next thing I know, he's calling me saying he needs me and that something's happened. I don't know what, but it's not good."

"Seeing that your boy's in Brownsville, I guess so."

Steve nods and clenches up to avoid crying. Sometime he wishes he weren't so sensitive. Especially now. The shame of putting Bucky in this situation could make him cry and he doesn't want Sam seeing that. He tries to hold it together with pressed lips before Sam can notice, but he does anyway and places a hand on Steve's shoulder.

"Hey, big man," he says reassuringly and squeezes. "It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay. We're on our way to get him now."

"It's _my_ fault he's there," Steve replies and covers his face with the hand without the phone. "I didn't mean for-"

"It's _nobody's_ fault," he protests and follows the navigation right into Brownsville where the scenery take an immediate, bland, horrendous turn. "It's okay, Steve. I'm sure James doesn't blame you. If he did, he wouldn't have called you. He called you before anyone else. Doesn't that mean something?"

"What if he dies? What if someone-"

Sam flashes him a quick and stern look, shutting him up immediately. "I _know_ you won't let that happen."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts," Sam barks and keeps his eyes out for the address. "Just relax. I would say you owe me, but this is a little bit more exciting than going to work."

Steve doesn't even try to hide a giggle or two at that. He looks down at his phone and puts it back up to his ear as his eyes scan the area. It's alerts him how much graffiti is plastered on every building and how much trash litters the streets. Every other block has a makeshift memorial with candles and worn out stuffed animals for a fallen citizen which makes Steve gulp louder than he'd meant to. It never truly occurs to him that he went all the way to Afghanistan for a war when barely even half an hour away from his apartment, there's a war of its own raging on. The shut down liquor stores, impoverished apartment buildings, and unstable drug addicts surrounding every corner send a chill down his spine. The thought of _anyone_, let alone his Bucky, being within all this leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

"Welcome to Brownsville," Sam says sarcastically and kills the engine when they pull up in front of a red brick apartment with litter cluttering the walk way. Fear would persuade any one else from going in there, but Steve Rogers didn't believe in fear when it comes to missions and his loved ones. He didn't care what this place looked like. All he knew is that Bucky needed him.

"Bucky," he says into the phone to assure his safety and the other man moans weakly like he's fallen asleep. He and Sam open their car doors, but before they can get out, Steve shoots his friend a look.

"Stay here."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Nah, I'm coming with ya."

Steve groans and shuts his door after hopping out. "I'll be-"

"Yeah, yeah. You'll be fine, but this kinda neighborhood ain't for your kind," he smirks and gives Steve a once over. He doesn't understand at first, but he's the deepest shade of red when Sam compares his skin tone to Steve's.

"_Oh_."

"Yeah. Oh," Sam laughs and follows Steve to the apartment door that appears ajar with a useless, broken lock.

"Shit." He gasped under his breath and opens the door with a creak to be met with the smell of what's probably weed, alcohol and urine. There's even more trash on the stained carpet of the hallway and walls that are home to a cockroach or two.

"What've you gotten yourself into?" Steve utters under his breath and travels farther into the dirty apartment, stepping over clutter and avoiding touching anything when he glances into random rooms with no luck. There's dirt and grime on everything around them, which leads Steve to believe no one lives here or whoever does has no concept of spring cleaning. Sam's muttering behind him, shaking his head at the mess.

Steve badly wants to call out Bucky's name to find him faster so they can get the hell out of there, but he has no idea what kinda situation this is, so it's best to keep quiet and keep poking his head into rooms. He's met with a few creepy crawlers before getting to the bedroom at the end of the hall and finding his baby boy spread eagle with nothing but boxers on in the middle of a floored mattress surrounded by empty beer bottles, a broken alarm clock, clothes, and even more trash. Despite all of it, he runs right into the room and has Bucky's face in his hands within seconds.

"Baby," he gushes, heart heavy and aching as he does an overview of his body to see if there's any external damage. Seeing as there is none, he focuses on the younger' man's face which is dropping and lighting up the second he sees Steve. His eyes are glossy with blown pupils and red rimmed with crinkling, wet eyelashes from crying. His nose is running as well.

"_Stevie_," he sings groggily, barely able to keep his eyes open but a smile still appears. "You came for me."

"Always," he assures him with a smile and a kiss to the forehead. He ignores how much Bucky stinks of alcohol and focuses on the fact that he's alive, and he can finally take care of him. "Now, c'mon. We gotta get you to a hospital. Sam, get his clothes."

"Hospital," he repeats and grimaces, not moving an inch. "So, 'm not dead..."

"Far from it." But you could be because of me. "Get on up. We gotta -"

"Can't move," he reminds him lazily, pouts and his eyes watch Sam gather his belongings. "S-Sam."

"Yeah, babe, he came with me," Steve explains and lifts with his knees to secure Bucky's body close to his as he carries him bridal style down the hallway and out the apartment. "Let's go."

The sun's getting higher and higher in the sky by the time Bucky's safely in the back seat with Steve and they're on their way to Brooklyn's Hospital Center. For the sake of decency, Steve struggles to get his clothes back when his body is so limp. Best guess he'd been drugged or something. Everything would be solved soon.

They arrive at the hospital within the hour and a few nurses take Bucky to the emergency room the minute they get inside. A few of them are stunned by his arm, but they probably hide their comments and amazement till they're out of earshot from Steve and Sam.

And Steve's waiting again.

While he was in the car, he'd taken Bucky's phone so he could get in contact with Clint and update Kitty. Clint said he'd be over in a few minutes, and Kitty said Mischka was still asleep.

It relaxes him knowing that everything is finally on track. However, that didn't stop his internal panic for whatever's happening with Bucky. As calm as he is right now, he's still pretty anxious if the two were even allowed to coexist as one emotion. He prays whatever happened is one accident after another and someone didn't intentionally try to hurt Bucky, but he knows better. He knows people. People can be vicious, and self preservation is a foreign concept to Bucky.

Steve won't lie and say he's not angry at himself. Respectfully, he believes this is all his fault no matter how much Sam reassures him that it isn't. If he hadn't pushed and pushed, Bucky wouldn't have done what he did and gone home with someone else. Certainly, he's allowed to feel hurt at that, but he practically handed Bucky off to whoever did this when he said what he'd said.

His fingers twitch and his legs bounce. His whole body is one big fidget as he sits in the quiet waiting room, staring at the pristine white tile, thinking of how he can burn off this excess energy he has built up. It's a furious energy; he can't tell if he wants to yell or punch something or do both. Really he wants to track down whoever did this and snap their neck for even looking at Bucky. How dare someone put hands on his baby boy! They took complete advantage of him and didn't even have the decency to help him.

They hurt his boy. They hurt Steve.

He clears his throat.

"You okay, man?" Sam asks, looking up from his magazine.

"Yeah," Steve lies and he knows Sam doesn't buy it.

"Just relax, okay?"

He nods. That's the last thing he wants to do. He's not a violent person, - hell, he might be a pacifist - but there's something in him telling him to kill. Find who did this and hurt them how they hurt Bucky.

He exhales and checks both his phone and Bucky's. Clint's still on his way, and Mischka's still asleep.

Three hours goes by and in that time, Clint shows up in a panic but manages to calm down enough to introduce himself to Sam who fills him in because if Steve opened his mouth, he'd probably begin to ball his eyes out. Kitty informs Steve that Mischka's just getting up. He tells her to dumb down the situation to the child so she won't worry too much. Kitty ends up telling her that Bucky fell down a flight of stairs which Mischka didn't believe at first, but ended up getting a hoot out of.

It's not till noon does Dr. Banner round the corner into the waiting room, lift his glasses and read from his clip board, "James Barnes?"

Steve, Sam, and Clint are on their feet toward Banner in a hot second as he eyes them all with wandering eyes.

"You're all here for James?" He asks slowly.

"Yes, we are," Clint responds and crosses his arms. "How is he?"

Dr. Banner looks at them all fondly with pursed lips. "He's fine. Perfectly fine. Just woke up," he explains and even though the news should be exciting, Steve can tell it's going to take a turn.

"_But_...?" he prompts, sensing the doctor isn't done.

He sighs and puts the clipboard to his side, talking more to Steve than Sam or Clint. "We found heavy traces of benzodiazepines, Rohypnol, and GHB in his urine and bloodstream. We suspect attempted alcohol poisoning given his blood alcohol calculation is more than the usual average we see in alcoholics," he explains, sounding more astounded than he looks.

"Benzodia-what?" Clint asks, shaking his head in confusion. "What's that? What's GHB?"

Steve goes pale at what the doctor said. His mother was a nurse and he practically grew up in a doctor's office given how sick he always was. He exhales exasperatedly and runs a hand over his face.

"Benzodiazepines and GHB are tranquilizers. Usually found in, like, Xanax. Rohypnol is just a fancy word for roofies. They're date rape drugs," Steve says bluntly and his worse suspicions were confirmed. "Someone drugged him."

Sam and Clint go silent at that. A second after the information sinks in, Sam gulps and places a hand firmly on Steve's shoulder and squeezes.

"Fortunately," Dr. Banner continues with a helpless smile and checks the notes on his clipboard. "There's no signs of forced physical entry on James. Although he was given high doses, his prosthetic stopped a minor flow of the drugs in his bloodstream, leaving him alert enough to defend himself and not be _totally_ subdued."

All three men pick their heads up at that to stare at the doctor. "_Defend_ himself?" Sam repeats.

Banner nods cheekily and puts his glasses back on. "The team did find particles of skin and blood on his prosthetic, and when we asked him if he remembered anything before nearly passing out, he said, and I quote, '_I punched the fucker in the mouth and he left.'_ Excuse my French."

And for what feels like the first time in forever, Steve finds himself laughing out of sheer relief and admiration along with Sam and Clint while Banner tries to hide a giggle of his own. "Sounds like Bucky," Clint comments over a chuckle.

"So, is he okay? Like _okay_ okay?" Steve asks just to hear for his own sanity. He wouldn't be totally right until he saw him for himself, but he'll take Banner's word.

"As of right now, he's fine. He's still a little drowsy, that's normal. With some rest and getting some fuel into him, he'll be out by the time night falls. Most victims of this kinda thing give up when they realize what's happened to them, but he's a fighter."

Damn right he is. Steve still a little shocked at that. He's proud. His baby boy held his own and saved himself before Steve even got involved. That makes him wanna see him more.

"Can we see him?" He asks eagerly, and Dr. Banner frowns ruefully.

"Unfortunately, he can only handle one at a time. Family members first before -"

"Well, this is his _brother_," Clint interrupts, placing hands on Steve's shoulders and pushing him forward. Sam scrunched his face up in confusion at first then tags along when Clint stares hard as hell with widened eyes and a hopeful smile.

"Yeah," Sam agrees.

Dr. Banner's brown eyes flash between the two of them then at Steve who is red faced and a very bad liar. "You're James Barnes' brother?"

Steve just nods. "I am."

"Name?"

"Steve Ro-_Barnes_."

Dr. Banner doesn't look like he buys it one bit, but he motions for Steve to follow him down the hallway anyway. He glances back at Sam and Clint graciously and they wave. He trots to keep up with Dr. Banner who is staring down at his clipboard and smirking.

"You guys look nothing alike," he says, not looking up at Steve. He swallows hard and says the first thing he can think of.

"Different mothers."

"Hmm," he hums and stops at a mint green door to knock and let himself in. Steve follows and seeing the gurney bed, the IV, the heart monitor, and the scrubs on the nurses was like stepping into a time machine. He knows all this too damn well.

Bucky's laying on the bed in a blue hospital gown with wires and tubes connected all over him, making him look sicker than he really is. His hair's off his face, revealing his sweaty forehead accompanied by dazed eyes, a silly smirk over chapped lips, and unusually pale skin. He still as beautiful as ever. Everything on him glows the second he and Steve's eyes meet. Steve puts a finger over his own lips to hush him before he says something incriminating and unbrotherly. Bucky nods and looks to Dr. Banner who's giving instruction to nurses as well as checking Bucky's vitals. He jots down notes and smiles friendly at Bucky for a few minutes before leaving with promise to be back.

Steve pulls up a stool next to the bed and immediately wraps his hand around Bucky's to bring it to his lips and kiss gently.

"Hi," he says under his breath and the brunet turns his head to look at him. His eyes are brighter already and his smile is as wide as can be. This little chipper fucker is gonna be the death of Steve and every last one of his morals.

"Stevie," he says and tightens his clammy fingers around Steve's. "_Hi_."

"How you feelin'?" It might be a silly question, but he needs to know.

He blinks twice and opens his eyes fully, looking more like himself. "Like an idiot."

"You're not an idiot."

He rolls his eyes shut and has a brief tremor rock through him before opening his eyes to show they've begun watering. His lips curl in to block the noises in his throat, but it doesn't work when he lets out an involuntary whine and tries to get it back by putting his metal hand over his mouth.

"I'm so sorry," he says and a single tear falls off the side of his face and onto the pillow. "I could've d-died, couldn't I? Almost went and got myself killed- "

Steve can quickly see how worked up he's getting just by how much faster the heart monitor is beeping beside him. He kisses his hand again and keeps his lips pressed to his dry knuckles.

"Shh, love. It's alright. You just need to rest right now."

"_Mischka_," he suddenly groans and squeezes Steve's fingers tighter, probably cutting off circulation. "Tell me she's okay. She's not here, is she? I don't want her seeing like this! I can't l-leave her. I almost -"

"She's with Kitty, our neighbor. She's fine. Kitty says they're making lunch right now and they're going to the park later. It's fine."

Bucky's chest heaves and flattens when he accepts that with a short nod. He stares at Steve lovingly for a moment, but still looks like he's about to cry. "I'm sorry I caused all this trouble," he apologizes and shyly glances off to the side. "I don't remember much right now, but, um...h-how'd I get here?"

"You don't remember _anything_?"

Bucky pouts. "Not after-" he says and the sentence trails off into the air without being finished before he shakes his head. "I remember leaving your place crying cus you were angry with me. I don't know? Everything else is blurry, but I just remember thinking you how much you hate me. _Do_ _you_?"

The deer in the headlights trance his eyes are in fix to Steve in such a focus that it almost seems unintentional. He's probably still a little bit under. He's never looked at Steve like this. Never this focused...never this scared. He looks like someone's teenage son. Any random person who took a single glance at the doting innocence in his eyes and the sheepish way he chews his bottom lip when he's scared or ashamed would ever guess that this man is twenty-seven years old with a six year old daughter. Steve feels nearly guilty for being so mean to him earlier because everything on this face of his is a cry for affection and help from someone older and wiser. It's like he's saying "I didn't mean it...are you mad at me?" without ever opening his mouth. He looks so lost - like he needs someone to guide him.

Steve hates to think of him so helplessly. He's a grown man who can defend himself and was perfectly fine without Steve before. But there's something about him now beckoning to Steve like forgiveness or acceptance for what's happened. He already forgives him. He just wants him to be okay.

He told Steve he loves him. He doesn't even remember it, but he said it. He said it because he thought he was dying, and now he's staring at Steve like he's the greatest thing to ever grace God's green earth

It's Steve's fault. He should be asking forgiveness...

"I could _never_ hate you," he says honestly and kisses his fingers repeatedly because his mouth is too far away. Bucky smiles graciously and those eyes twinkle just hearing that.

"You called me," Steve continues. "It was four this morning. You said you needed me and I was there. Now we're here."

"D-did they tell you?" He asks wearily with a croaked voice as he nods towards the door the nurses and Dr. Banner had walked out of. He manages to sound so tiny and precious.

"Tell me what?"

His whole face reddens. "They said I was dr-drugged," he mutters. "Did they tell you what it was?"

"Benz-" he starts but shakes his head. "Roofies," he says simply. "I suppose you don't remember any of it."

"I remember," he clears his throat and flexes his left arm, making the metal plates shift with a whirring sound. "I punched him in the face. Then I was alone," he recalls and avoids Steve's eyes. "I have _so_ _much_ to explain to you-"

"Shh," Steve hushes him and sighs. This is definitely a conversation for later, so he doesn't push even though he wants to. Right now is about Bucky's well-being. "It can wait till we get home. Just rest, baby."

Steve, Sam, and Clint visit Bucky forty five minutes apart from each other much to the nurse's dislike. Steve didn't mind watching him sleep on his turns while Clint and Sam talked to keep him up. It was a little before dinner time that Steve got Mischka on the phone to talk to Bucky. That usual charming Brooklyn drawl slowly returns to his voice as he talks into the cell phone with his eyes and hands drawn to Steve like a magnet. He's a pretty good liar at how well he sells the falling down the stairs bit to her.

It's probably seven at night when Dr. Banner gives Bucky the okay to go home. He suggests getting therapy if he deemed it necessary and referred a friend of his if he should take it on. He shrugs it off and declines, but it doesn't stop Steve from getting the business card from Dr. Banner and tucking it in his wallet as well as paying Bucky's hospital bill. There's a fuss about it, and they're at the hospital an additional twenty minutes till Steve convinces him.

The ride in Sam's truck back to Brooklyn Heights is silent. Steve thanks him and makes a plan to go back to his place to get Peggy tomorrow. Bucky doesn't let go of Steve's hand the entire time they walk up to Kitty's apartment, so the hug he gives Mischka when she excitedly jumps into his arms is a little complicated.

She's going on and on about her and Kitty's trip to the art museum over one of Steve's fruit bowls, -which are quickly becoming her favorite thing ever - telling Bucky how the three of them absolutely need to go again one day. Bucky's nodding in agreement and suffering through a fruit bowl of his own making cute, disgusted faces at the flavor. It makes Steve laugh a little, but his happiness dies out soon since the night is far from over and there's still an explanation to be told.

He holds his tongue and keeps a cheeky smile plastered on his face till it's about Mischka's bedtime and the two of them tuck her in.

"G'night, Daddy," she murmurs sleepily into her pillow as Bucky places a peck on her temple, right on the reluctant baby hairs that refused to be brushed into her braid.

"Night. Love you." he says and leans against her bedroom door, watching as Steve does a similar gesture.

"Sweet dreams, little one," he says and kisses the same spot. "Love you."

"Love you more."

Steve kinda blushes at that. He smiles and follows Bucky out of the room as the door shuts with a quiet click behind them. Before he even knows it, Bucky's got his flesh hand looped around Steve's in a desperate cling. He's thrown off by it at first, but the gentle peck Bucky places on his cheek is appreciated.

Bucky nods towards the bedroom and guides him along, knowing full and well what's about to occur. He follows willingly since this is the time for the truth to be revealed. No interruptions. No excuses.

The second the door behind them shuts, Bucky presses himself up against it as though to block it - just like the way Steve had this morning. Fear is written all over his youthful face.

Steve sighs and sits at the edge of the unmade bed, looking at his boyfriend through hooded lids. Bucky tenses for a moment and examines Steve for any signs of refusal like he'd leave the second he steps from in front of the door. He can't find any, so he steps aside to turn his ceiling fan light on.

"Now or never, I suppose," he grunts out with a nervous chuckle but the humor doesn't reach him or Steve the right way. He faces his full length mirror to completely avoid looking into Steve's eyes straight on. It seems less intimidating to look at his reflection instead. "Do you wanna start with a question first or just hear the whole story?"

Steve doesn't say anything for a moment. He breathes easy through his nose, unsure if he's angry or sad. He feels betrayed yet thankful that Bucky's okay. Pushing everything else racing in his head aside, he opens his mouth and surprisingly doesn't start crying.

"You wanna tell me how going home with another man is work?" He questions softly, doing his best to not let his emotions persuade his actions before he gets the full truth. "Why'd you lie to me? Am I not giving you something that you had to go out and get somewhere else?"

Bucky hangs his head and takes a seat beside Steve, the cool metal of his arm brushing against Steve's flesh one. A heavy sigh comes out his mouth and as guilty and ashamed as he looks, he manages to not manipulate his expression to something it isn't to fool Steve. He knows that no persona can get him out of this - he knows Steve knows it, too.

"It's nothing like that. Steve, you give me everything I need and then some," he starts off and there's not a hint of doubt in what he's saying. He's telling the truth. "I didn't technically lie however. There's some stuff I _haven't_ told you."

"Clearly," he snorts and Bucky grimaces.

"Guess I'll just tell you everything. It's 'bout time," he concludes and shakes his shoulders. "I can't promise you won't hate me afterwards, but just listen. Hear me out. Please don't judge me not matter how easy it'll be."

To soothe him, Steve sets a reassuring hand over Bucky's. "I'm listening."

Bucky nods and looks forward at the brown wall before him. A few hefty breaths are in order before he shrugs and pouts his bottom lip out in deep thought. Steve waits patiently, open mind ready to take in.

"Well, ugh, you know I was in Iraq," he begins confidently. "Don't know if Sam told you, but I was a sniper. I suppose I was pretty good, but there was this mission one day," he swallows, "An ambush, I should say. Bombs went off. Shots were fired. Can't remember much but long story short, my left arm gets blown off.

"I was sent home immediately and at the time, pre- Mischka, Nat and I were still living with her family in Russia. It was months before I even considered a prosthetic when Nat comes to me one day with this article about your friend, Stark, wanting to help war efforts by not making weapons but making body parts like legs and -"

"Arms," Steve finishes for him and nods, not missing the hostile tone he acquired when speaking of Tony.

"Yup," he nods. "At the time they were just prototypes, but I was desperate. So, Nat and I hop on a plane to the States after what felt like years of trying to getting an appointment with Stark Industries." He chuckles at something and rubs his chin. "I was against it at first. Didn't think it mattered if I had an arm or not. Seemed stupid to come to this man for help when it was _his_ weapons that blew it off in the first place."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. He remembers all too well the media frenzy and absolute pandemonium brought upon Stark Industries when word that terrorist had gotten hold of his tech got out. There was speculation of treason on Tony and the whole company and the trial was hell. Yeah, Tony's an asshole, but he's a cheeky asshole incapable of treason.

"Anyway, I meet Stark and he seems cool at first -"

"Till he opens his mouth."

Bucky chuckles. "Basically. So, we run some tests and file some paper work. I'm on a waiting list and a year after all this, I'm set up with this thing," he explains and wiggles his left arm. "It was a long procedure. Nat was there the whole time. Life's good for the three month test trial, but I hid it like I usually do. Eventually some bills come in the mail and it's time to start paying it back. The arm cost ten thousand. The procedure was seven. Money's tight and Nat's family offered to pay it, but I'm a proud man," he says sheepishly and tightens his grip on Steve.

"We managed to save up seven thousand hopping from job to job and paid that much back. We got pregnant with Mischka and that took a dip out of our savings. It was worth it though. We stayed in Russia briefly - she was barely in day care - till returning to New York where we shacked up with Clint before he got married. Nat, um, died soon after and her funeral took a strain on everything.

"It was weird not having her around, but we managed. I was sad for a long ass time, but I had help, thank God. Money was still tight and I didn't accept a single handout until I'd met this guy," he says sadly, his voice going an octave lower, and rolls his eyes. "His name was, um, is Brock."

It takes all the willpower in Steve not to give an obviously tense reaction at that name. He just nods and listens even harder because all he's been needing to know since he's read those texts is who the fuck Brock is.

"Guess you could say he _was_ my boyfriend," he supposed, matter of fact, but groans in irritation. "Felt more like my father. He was controlling, and mean, and -" he stops there when his voice begins to crack. He shuts his eyes. "He just _wasn't_ nice to me. I never let him around Mischka, either. But, I loved him. Or I thought I did. 'M not sure. All I knew is that he paid my bills," Bucky remembers and finally looks over at Steve who's turning red from hearing this. He faces forward again to continue.

"We had a bad fight one night in his house. I was tired of him holding this money over me and using it as a way to abuse me, so I tried breaking up with him. One thing led to another and I'm suddenly crying my eyes out and begging him not to kill me. I'm begging, practically _pleading_, for him to just help me out and he tells me that if I want the money, I'll have to work for it."

The blond sighs. _If he had just two minutes alone with either Xavier or Brock..._

"You _sure_ you wanna hear this?" Bucky pauses and studies Steve even harder when he turns to look at him again. Part of him doesn't while the other does. He just nods anyway.

"Um," Bucky hums and rubs the back of his neck. "When he said that I'd have to work for it, he meant I'd have to sleep with him. He allowed me to break up with him, but if I wanted my bill paid, he made me come over ever so often so we could, ugh, fuck. Anyway, he, ugh, referred me to some of his friends. Out of desperation, I accepted and before I could even stop myself, I was taking money from everybody and paid Stark back within two years."

Everything was slowly starting to make sense now. Steve keeps quiet till he's done.

"Even with my debt paid, it was easy money. I figured since I'm good at it, I might as well just make it a full time thing if I wasn't hurting anyone," he goes on and wipes a stray tear away. His eyes haven't left Steve's profile. "Doing what I do has helped me a lot. Bought me my apartment and stuff for Mischka."

Bucky looks forward again when Steve doesn't immediately respond. "To answer your question, _that's_ what I do. _That's_ my job. That's why I went home with Ale- _him_. That guy."

It takes Steve a shorter moment than he'd expected to let that shit sink in. It makes _perfect_ sense.

He looks up at Bucky to see if any spark of anger ignites, but it doesn't. He sees him no differently than he did before he'd told him, and that's relieving because he'd be damned if he let Bucky go over this, especially given the day they've had.

He could even say he's _happy _now.

"That's it?"

Bucky nods truthfully.

"That's the truth?"

"Yes," he exhales, a weight lifted off his shoulders. "It's understandable if you _don't_ wanna be with someone who does that kinda thing. For the record, I _do_ make my clients wear condoms - no matter how much they'd wanna pay to not - and I get my self tested _twice_ every month."

Steve's even happier to hear that and it must startle Bucky because a huge smile is spreading across his face. All he ever wanted was honesty and he's _finally_ gotten it. No judgement is to be passed here no matter how upsetting the truth of what Bucky does is. He doesn't care; all he knows is that his baby boy is safe and there's no more secrets. It's weird - Bucky's a prostitute, practically a hustler, taking all these poor guys for their money when Steve gets it for free at home.

And the best part about it is that _Bucky loves him_. Bucky may not know that Steve knows, but he will soon. For right now, he's just happy that he trusted him enough with the truth. But to prevent situations like tonight ever happening again, Steve would have to be the proper boyfriend and put his foot down to certain aspects of his job. He'd never tell Bucky he had to stop since he's been doing it long before Steve came along. It's not something he has control over and, like Bucky'd said, he's not hurting anyone. It'd take getting used to, but Steve's one to adapt.

"You think I'm gonna break up with you now?" He asks and his heart breaks at the crestfallen nod Bucky does.

"You're so dumb," he says and grabs Bucky's face in his hands to kiss him. "You're an idiot."

Bucky pulls away, wide eyed and shocked. "It doesn't bother you?"

"It'll take getting used to," he admits and keeps kissing wherever he can reach. "I'm not gonna change you, Buck. You were doing this before you met me. I got no right to stop you from making your own choices."

There's a returning twinkle in Bucky's eyes when he looks at Steve like that. It's present whenever he complements him, makes him something to eat, or gives him a massage. It's here right now. Oh, man, he really does love him.

"_Really_?"

He nods and places his hand on the side of his baby's neck. "Yes."

"S-so, you're not mad at me no more? Am I still your baby boy? Your b-boyfriend?" He asks meekly and puts a hand around Steve's wrist. His skin is hot, and he's shaking hard, so he takes Bucky into his arms to keep him steady.

"Yes. My baby boy. No one else's. I don't fucking care who pays for you. You're _mine_," he answers, practically growling. Bucky nudges himself closer to Steve with his head tucked safely into his neck, purring at how possessive Steve is. He needs this. He's alive off of this. He knows the whole situation is fucked, but he doesn't care. As long as Steve accepts him, _none_ of it matters.

And maybe none of it ever has.

Bucky telling Steve the truth sets a chain of conversations to start for them. Since they're telling the truth, it becomes a learning session between the two of them going back and forth with little facts and confessions about themselves. As it turns out, Bucky's favorite color is blue, he's from Shelbyville, Indiana, and when he was younger, he'd tell people he was allergic to fruits and vegetables but in reality, he just didn't like to eat healthy.

And while his favorite genre of music is rap and his favorite artists are A Tribe Called Quest and N.W.A, his absolute favorite song ever is "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd. It's the first song he'd learned on guitar while he was in high school and he liked it so much because he felt like it was a perfect representation of how absent his dad was in he and Becca's life. It wasn't significant to him for such a time till Natasha passed on and he kept it on repeat for months after her funeral.

Steve also learns that he loves horror films, specifically Wes Craven's _A Night on Elm Street_ franchise, but _Breaking Bad i_s his favorite television show. He's always been obsessed with space - which explains his love for _Star Wars_ and those figurines in the living room - and wanted to be an astronaut before music piqued his interest. Strawberry cheesecake is his favorite dessert he considers it healthy simply for the strawberries despite Steve telling him otherwise. He even confesses that he'd always wanted to get his ears pierced, but never had the guts to.

They learn of the things they have in common such as being fans of Calvin Klein - which is why they have the same cologne and underwear - enjoying Thai food, being in the arts, and wanting large families when they were younger. Bucky had always wanted four kids consisting of two girls and two boys. Steve wanted twins. It seems like a long shot now but neither of them comment on it.

The conversation takes a sexual turn when they reveal some of their hidden fantasies, but it doesn't stay sexual before it gets hilarious when Bucky tells him he used to have this fantasy of fucking someone in a storm trooper suit. Bucky laughs back at him when Steve reveals that at a young age, he'd developed an awkward crush on Daphne from the older cartoon version of _Scooby-Doo._ No one is _truly_ as normal as they seem, they figure.

They don't even realize they'd been talking for four hours till they check the clock over Bucky's bed. It seemed like the perfect time to get some sleep since they hadn't the day before, but one kiss leads to another and Bucky's suddenly got his mouth on Steve's cock with Steve's fingers in his scalp. They tell themselves they'll leave it at just oral, but that motion doesn't last long when Bucky brushes that thick ass of his against Steve's leg in the most teasing way possible.

Next thing they know, it's round three, and Steve's got his cock buried wetly within Bucky's body, making him writhe and beg for more till he comes twice on his own sheets and Steve's stomach.

Their muscles ache and their voices are strained by the time they've come down from their orgasmic highs at five in the morning. Steve's hands sting from spanking. Bucky's head spins from his hair being ruthlessly the tugged. Neither care.

As they cuddle up into one another facing the window to watch the sunrise, Steve brings his lips to Bucky's ear and bites his earlobe. "You know, as my boyfriend, I'm gonna have to spoil the fuck out of you now," he grunts and kisses his cheek bone.

"Lucky me," he sighs and kisses Steve back, tightening his body against him just in case he'd change his mind and try to escape.


	12. 12

"Buzz Lightyear and Woody from _Toy Story_?" Bucky suggests, tossing the costumes in Steve's direction. He catches them, evaluates them, and tosses them right back.

"No."

"Um," Bucky hums and reads the label on the next costume he sees. "Batman and Robin?"

"If I get to be Batman."

"Very funny. _I'd_ be Batman."

"Then no," Steve repeats and stays close behind Mischka as she skips excitedly to the next aisle of the costume store. Bucky follows, but never takes his eyes off the remaining options given it's the night before Halloween and everybody's already gotten the costume they'd wanted. When Bucky suggested that Mischka be a fairy princess for the third year in a row, she huffed and puffed with her lip pouted till Steve convinced Bucky that going to the costume store for her would be the perfect opportunity to get their own since Sam's throwing his annual Halloween party. Steve goes every year but never in costume, which is, apparently. a party foul.

"How bout Tanto and The Lone Ranger?" Bucky says behind him, reading the plastic costume label.

"Ugh, I'd rather not get crucified for cultural appropriation," Steve declines and scans up and down the crowded aisle for options of his own. Mischka already has several costumes in hand while Steve can't even find one he and Bucky agree on. It's his first time wearing a costume in years, and he wants to come to Sam's party in style, especially with Bucky. They needed something clever and cute, but still showed they're a couple.

It's still pretty new to them both. They're only twelve days strong, and Steve's slipping up and still calling Bucky his neighbor or just his friend instead of his partner which he prefers to 'boyfriend' since he's not a freakin' teenager. Bucky tells everyone Steve's his "bae" just to annoy him, but he finds he likes the 'boyfriend' thing because_ it's cute, Stevie..._

He doesn't hear the end of it from Sam or Darcy now that they're official. On one of the rare days that Steve's called into the office for a production meeting, he called in late when his alarm didn't go off and before Darcy reported it to Fury - their boss - she teased him that he was only late because he was up all last night playing around with Bucky. That was only _slightly_ true, but it didn't make Steve's eye roll any less.

Sam is even worse. He constantly makes kissy noises whenever Steve and Bucky attend the VA meetings together, snaps sneaky pictures on his phone when they show any sort of PDA, and refers to them as the Rogers when he talks about them not be a cheeky but because i_t's easier than calling you guys Steve and Bucky._ It's annoyingly adorable that Sam is happy to see Steve's found somebody after years of pestering him to get back in the dating game. Steve has tried to tease him about Maria, but it doesn't trump the treatment he gets over Bucky.

In that twelve day span, Bucky's introduced him to things his old man mentality didn't have a knack for. Although he hasn't posted anything to his Instagram account yet, Bucky taught him how to and let him scroll through his. There's playful pictures of Mischka with happy captions, a few handsome selfies, lovey-dovey ones with Steve, landmarks around Brooklyn like Prospect Park, and even videos of him singing while playing the piano, but the one that strikes him hardest and shocks him to the core is the post he finds of _himself_.

He's sleeping, shirtless with just pajama pants on, tangled in Bucky's cotton sheets that are a wrinkly mess on the bed. The lighting from the window in the far right of the photo suggests it's probably late morning, and if he's still sleep then it's probably the weekend. He looks at peace, and no one would ever think he's ever had a single worry in the world the way he dreams away like a newborn baby. It's a pretty recent picture, taken a week ago and the only thing the caption reads is: Mine.

Bucky's nowhere to be found in the picture, which is a first compared to the other posts. He doesn't know if he likes the picture itself, but the idea of it gets him a little sentimental. The ones of him and Bucky together are sweet, but this one makes his stomach flutter in the slightest. He hasn't had that feeling since he'd met him back in August.

_Mine._

Steve thinks about it now as he's watching Bucky shuffle through other costumes and scrunching his face up cutely when he doesn't like them.

_Mine._

Out of impulse, he intertwines his fingers with Bucky's metal ones, and at first Bucky doesn't look away from the costumes but when he does, he turns pink and shoots Steve a closed mouth grin.

They're in the Halloween store for a good two hours with no luck on their part, but Mischka's got costumes for the next few years lined up. All she has to do is decide which one she was going to wear.

And because the tyke was spending the night at Kitty's, Steve doesn't really expect to spend his Friday night looking up Halloween couple ideas on his laptop - he fully intended on _some_ kinda play time - while Bucky straddles his lower back and makes drums out of Steve's ass cheeks through his jogger pants.

"Having fun?" He says, bored, and scrolls down the page. Bucky hums in amusement and keeps slapping away, making beats with no rhythm in mind.

"How 'bout the_ Wizard of Oz?_ Mischka can be Dorothy, I can be the Cowardly Lion, Carter can be Toto, and your arm would be perfect for the Tin Man. Wouldn't even have to cover it," he suggests after a while and more butt smacking. Bucky groans aloud.

"Like I haven't done that in years passed. Literally the first Halloween after I got the thing attached, the boys and I were the_ Wizard of Oz._"

Steve groans. "We can't show up _without_ costumes."

"Or we could _not_ go at all," he says, matter of fact, and actually spanks Steve's ass harder than before, making him hiss. "Why can't we just stay here after we take her trick or treating? We could try some role play where you play a scary monster who's mission is to fuck his victims instead of kill them."

At that, Steve instinctively flips them over, placing Bucky under him as he hovers with just their noses touching.

"As fun as that sounds, freak, I actually _enjoy_ Sam's Halloween parties. They get pretty wild, but they're fun. I intend to fuck you afterwards, though. Maybe even while we're there," he admits and sinks down atop of Bucky's body and kisses the dent in his chin. When they're this close, Steve loves counting how many freckles are on his face.

"Wild, huh?" Bucky repeats and kisses Steve's cheek. "Ain't you a lil' _too_ _old_ for parties anyway?"

"Why do you keep thinking I'm older than I really am?" Steve asks incredulously, but still amused.

"You don't even notice you're a ninety-five year old, cranky, old, rickety man trapped in a thirty-two year old's fine ass body," he replies between continuously kissing Steve. He exhales his breath onto Steve's face and pulls back into the pillows to look at him. "But, you're _my_ ninety-five year old, cranky, old, rickety man."

"Never would've taken you for the gerontological type," Steve snaps back but Bucky just rolls his eyes.

"There you go! Only someone who's like six hundred and twelve years old would use some big ass, philosophic word like _that_. What the hell is that?"

Steve laughs at how genuinely baffled he is and buries his face safely in Bucky's warm neck. "Don't worry about it. Your childish ass will keep me young forever."

"You think I'm kidding. No thirty-something I know has a record player or enjoys thirties cartoons. None of them go to parties either or clubs like Hydra."

"That's 'cus they have kids," Steve realizes sadly but pretends it doesn't bother him. Instead he covers up a frown with kissing Bucky's chin again. He counts twenty-nine freckles this time.

"I _never_ thought I'd have kids," Bucky says, running his fingers through Steve's short, blond hair with steady, flesh fingers. His voice sounds so calm yet so focused like he's deep and alone in his own thoughts even though he's with Steve. "Still shocks me to this day I actually have one of my own. I guess it's cause I still see myself as a child most of the time."

"Really," Steve says seriously at first and smirks. "_You_? A _kid_? No! _Never_!" Steve exclaims sarcastically while Bucky twists his face to avoid agreeing and laughing at the sudden obvious revelation. "Is it watching _Disney_ movies or eating Fruit Loops mixed with Cookie Crisps that brought you to that conclusion? No, _wait_ \- it's the fuss you put up when I tell you to take a nap when you're cranky. Yeah, _that's_ it."

Bucky finally lets himself giggle into Steve's hair, and it shakes them both. "Yeah, okay. Hey, it makes sense. Not sure if I ever told you this but, ugh, I've _always_ been the younger of every relationship I've had."

Steve's wiggles a brow. "Yeah?"

"Mhm," he nods and keeps rubbing his boyfriend's scalp. "Xavier was in his fifties, Brock was in his late thirties, and Nat was a good nine months ahead of me. Now there's _you_ being the oldest at a dusty ninety-five," he laughs at the last part, and Steve tries to find it funny, but any reminder of Brock or Xavier put him at such an edge that it made him furious. Bucky notices his frown and smiles sadly, hiding how hard it is to talk about it but willing enough to share with Steve.

"Guess that why I am how I am. So immature and childish. So fucking _needy_. Maybe it shocks me so much to have a kid because I've always been someone else's baby. Everyone else has always taken care of me like their kid," he admits and stares off to the side, avoiding Steve's eyes when he stares him subtly flips them around again so Bucky's straddling him front ways now, hands planted on Steve's chest, eyes cast downward passed Steve to the bed underneath them. He allows Steve to lift his head up by the chin to look him in his eyes. Bucky silently obeys and meets their longing gazes.

"Tell me about it," Steve instructs him and places gentle hands on his hips to keep him steady atop of him. "Tell me what you like."

Those beautiful greys of his get blown to their max at the odd request - like he'd never expected to have this conversation with Steve - of all people - but he nods and opens his mouth to speak.

"I like being talked down to or like a child," he confesses, babying his voice up for the sake of the conversation. "Not that goo goo gaga shit, but scolding. If I fuck up or step outta line, I wanna be put in my place. I want someone to _control_ _me_."

He got that bittersweet satisfaction from being under Xavier's thumb for so damn long that he craves it more than anything. He's practically programmed that way without even realizing. Even though he knows that it's wrong, Bucky still likes it and feels little guilt about it. The fucked up part is that Steve didn't know he craved the same thing till fucking Bucky for the first time. He wants to control something or _someone_ in that way just to say he can and feel pride in having his partner trust and respect him enough to allow him such a thing. If he told Bucky to sit down and shut the fuck up, he'd probably come right then and there from him obeying.

It makes him swallow hard and tighten his fingers around the muscles of Bucky's beautiful hips. "Keep going," he commands, fixing his voice to get deeper and huskier.

"I told you I like spankings," he goes on, maintaining that virginal shyness that destroys Steve every time he dare uses it. "I sometimes purposely act out in public so that I can get a nice spanking when we're alone," he says in a huff, attempting to inconspicuously grind his ass against Steve's hardening erection. They both feel the other getting gradually more rowled up with the other's actions - Bucky with Steve pressing possessive dents into his baby boy's skin and Steve with his cock getting harder between the creases of Bucky's ass. Lord, he loves how fat his ass is.

"Go on," he demands, swallows again, and assists Bucky in his grinding with his grip tightening, heart pumping faster and his dick getting harder.

"Humiliation," he says with no explanation. "And begging for mercy till I _fuckin_' _cry_."

"_Bucky_," he moans under his breath to encourage him.

"I _really_ like when you feed me, sir," he goes on and leans forward to angle the outlines of their cocks together so they rub against each other perfectly, producing the right amount of friction to get Steve's teeth deep in his bottom lip and Bucky panting like a dog in heat.

"I like being tucked into bed. _Fuck_, sir, I _really_ like it," he cries, anchoring himself harder against Steve to get them there faster, but before he gets ahead of himself, Steve momentarily stops him and tugs both of their pants down just enough around their thighs so that it's full on contact between them, and they don't ruin fine pairs of pants just because they were too horny to stop.

Bucky releases a chorus of whines and impatient mewls as he rocks faster on Steve's cock that's glistening from the pre-come dripping out of Bucky's slit.

"I didn't say you could stop, baby boy," Steve reminds him when his red, quivering bottom lip pokes out. _That's_ one of Bucky's many tells. "I wanna hear more of what you like, honey."

Bucky nods as best he can without stopping his lower body's actions against Steve. "Wearing yer clothes because they smell like you, and all yer shirts are a size too big...makes me feel _small_..."

Steve didn't even know he liked that until his cock twitches towards Bucky's at the thought of Bucky wearing his sweatpants. He's only an inch barely two shorter than Steve, but the thought of Steve's pants scrunching at the bottom and covering Bucky's feet because they don't fit properly is undeniable cute. It's _wrong_ to get off to that kinda thing. It rocks Steve to his core that he actually wants to feed him and tuck him in at night like some sort of incapable child. It's _scary_. It's _wrong_.

But it feels _too_ _damn_ _good_.

That compels him to go faster.

"F_-fuck_," Bucky bites out and gasps. "I like being bossed around. Like getting permission to do st-stuff...ugh, _fuck_... Like getting baths a-and my hair washed," he stutters in tune with his hips, struggling to stay upright on Steve at the same time as talking. "I- I'm not sure if I sh-should, though..."

"But you like it," Steve clarifies and pushes upward, making a strangled, unsure sound come out of Bucky. "You like being taken care of and treated like that. That's not a bad thing."

"_Sir_..." He slurs and his body gets tighter within Steve's grip that gets tauter as well. "Sir, 'm gonna _come_..."

"Is that everything you like?" Steve asks, digging his fingernails into the fat of his ass. Both their breath hitches at that.

"No...there's so _much_ _more_..."

"Tell me," Steve presses on, needing to hear everything before blowing. "_Please_ tell me, baby boy. T-tell me so I'll know how to take care of you."

Bucky isn't able to hold out for much longer. Before he can even get a word out, he locks up for a nanosecond before letting out a relieved and needy moan, squeezing Steve's pectorals within his hands, and shooting a smooth shot of semen right onto Steve's stomach and chest. He closes his eyes and keeps going atop of Steve till his boyfriend follows shortly behind with a guttural growl and stagnant, little hip thrusts. His load lands in a mix with Bucky's on his chest which makes him chuckle a little. Bucky isn't as amused when he comes off his high.

"What? Did I come too quick? To be fair, _you_ came first, and -" Steve begins, pointing up at him, but stops when Bucky rolls off of him to get a wet cloth from the bathroom.

"You don't think it's a tad sick that I like being treated like that? Like a baby?"

Steve regards him for a second and watches as he cleans the mess off of his torso. "Correction: _my_ baby. Not _a_ baby. Last I checked, you're perfectly capable of wiping your own ass and differentiating colors and shapes."

Bucky's eyes flick up to meet his with scrunching eyebrows and a wrinkle in his forehead. "It's _weird_, though. How needy I am."

"Ain't nothing wrong with liking attention," Steve tells him and hikes his jogger pants back over his waist, penis tucked away. "It's not weird not when you have someone who likes doing those kinda things for you," he goes on and sits upward to meet Bucky's pouted lips. He doesn't respond at first but the nip Steve does on his bottom lip gets him laughing and opening his mouth to take Steve's tongue in. They're like that for a moment then Bucky pulls back for put his forehead on Steve's.

"We still gotta figure out costumes," he reminds him and his eyelashes graze against Steve's shut eyelids when he takes in how gorgeous his Steve is up close.

"You're not gonna tell me what else you like?" Steve says teasingly with a devilish smirk playing on his features that just spells out trouble. "I'd like to know how to take care of my baby boy."

"You already take good care of me," Bucky assures him and kisses him once more before getting an idea. "Going back on what you said about _Disney_ films, I reckon we watch one right now."

"Who the hell says 'reckon'?"

"I'm surprised _you_ don't, with yer old ass," Bucky bites back harmlessly with that Brooklyn accent he's known to get from time to time. He bends forward in front of the entertainment center at the front of his bedroom to open the lower cabinets, showcasing his DVD collection. Steve's baby blues widen at the number of _Disney_ logos he sees.

"In terms of _Disney_, we got _Fox and the Hound, Cinderella, Pinocchio_ \- which is one of _my_ favorites - _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs_," he reads off each DVD and shrugs. "If you're more into the Renaissance, we got_ Tarzan, Mulan, The Lion King,_ -another favorite - _The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast-_"

"Is there a reason why these belong to you and _not_ the six year old?" Steve interrupts, unable to keep up with every title he reads off.

"Well, majority of them did belong to her at one point. Most of them were gifts, but she never watched them. Actually, I didn't really think she liked them. So I just took 'em," he explains, reading the back to one of the DVD's. "I grew up on most of these. She's just missing out."

"And you actually still enjoy them today?" Steve asks, highly amused. In his childhood, he's pretty sure he's seen all of the movies in Bucky's collection, but he doesn't remember any of them or enjoying them anyway. He really is a geezer.

Bucky eyes him incredulously and grins wildly like the question is a joke. "_Of_ _course_! Ugh, I can't even tell ya, Steve. Whenever I'm having a bad day or I need help, I pop in a _Disney_ movie, and I'm set."

"Didn't know that," the blond admits and scoots off the bed to join Bucky on the carpet in front of the entertainment center.

"I don't do it as often since I don't have as many bad days as I used to anymore," he tells him and nudges his shoulder into Steve's with a coy, close mouth smile and red cheeks. "Thanks to you."

Steve's face burns at the same time he feels himself getting fluttered with flattered embarrassment. "When was the last time you watched a _Disney_ movie...cus you were sad?" He adds the last part on to specify.

It takes him a moment to answer. "When I told you the truth about the arm and my job. Figured you were pretty sore with me, so I watched _The Princess and the Frog_," he laughs a little and puts his metal hand over Steve's. "You said you weren't mad, but I was still pretty down from what had happened."

Steve swallows and locks their fingers together. He squeezes a few times hoping that whatever nerve sensors on the artificial fingertips could feel his heart pulsing in his palm. "_Please_ don't _ever_ think you can't talk to me about _anything_. Especially when you're upset about something."

The brunet nods in understanding, leaning closer to Steve for a quick kiss. "Yes, sir," he says more out of respect rather than the dirty connotations it's been used for.

"I mean it," he exaggerates. "And, for the record, I was _never_ mad at you about what happened. It takes very little for me to get mad at you."

"Coming from the man who didn't talk to me for, like, an hour straight yesterday when I refused to eat some spinach," he points out. "Speaking of food, you wanna be the best boyfriend in the world and go get your favorite guy something to eat?" He asks, batting his long eyelashes and kissing along Steve's jaw with his face ducked into Steve's neck. "I can have the movie up and going by the time you get back."

Steve rolls his eyes in mock annoyance and stands from his spot on the carpet to get his wallet from off the night stand. "What do you want to eat?"

"Surprise me," Bucky answers, smile previously as he selects a colorful DVD from the bunch and turns the TV on.

As requested, Steve does surprise him. The night is still pretty early, and there's quite a bit of DVD's in that collection. The way Bucky eyes lit up when he was showing it off brought joy to Steve's heart no matter how much he didn't care for the movies themselves. He figures that since it's about time for a movie marathon in their relationship, he damn near cleans out the candy aisles, gets a double fudge chocolate cake, a large cheese pizza, and a bottle of wine from his own apartment. He returns twenty minutes later to find Bucky in nothing but pajama pants and a broad smile when he takes in all the stuff Steve brought back.

"That all for us?" he asks, face brightening at the goodies. Steve nods and creates a makeshift picnic in front of the TV at the foot of the bed, paying little attention to the replaying DVD menu on the screen. Pride seems to swell up in his chest when Bucky snaps a picture of the scene to post it to his Instagram and tag Steve in it.

Not before long, the two men are watching _Cinderella_. Bucky, as predicted, knows every song and line of dialogue and has no problem singing along. Even though Steve found out to be truly engrossed in the movie, he secretly likes Bucky's version better. Steve especially enjoys his beat box rendition of "Bibidi Babisi Bu."

One pizza and two pieces of chocolate cake later, they've moved onto The Lion King, which is even more festive. The brunet couldn't sit still during the beginning when Simba's born nor could he when Simba couldn't wait to be king, but he got teary-eyed and put his head in the safe slot of Steve's neck when the young cub begs Mufasa to wake up despite just being thrown off a cliff and trampled to death. Steve bites his tongue to keep his "I guess cats don't land on their feet" comment to himself to avoid further upsetting Bucky.

"This is basically Hamlet," Steve mentions instead as he watches with grave interest. Bucky plucks his temple and tells him to quit being such an old man and enjoy the film.

Eventually, it's all no worries and such and Bucky's singing louder than he had any other song, dancing very intricately till the song is over. Steve thinks the singing and dancing is over till the love theme of the film begins to play and Bucky's absolutely _loses_ it. He's belting out the lyrics with that angelic voice of his, never missing a note even as he watches Simba and Nala frolic around the plains of Africa. It's really very sweet, and it's easier to see why Bucky loves it so much. The artistry of the movie as a whole is impressive as well as the music.

Once Bucky is done feeling the love and pretending to roar up to the high heavens from Pride Rock, - his bed - he pops in _Hercules_ and tells Steve to keep whatever Greek mythology fact or correction to himself because _it's just a cartoon, Steve._

_Hercules_ is a calmer time despite the sassy gospel numbers that brought the soul out of Bucky and had him shaking his hips, bouncing his ass, swerving his neck around, stamping his feet, clapping, and waving his fingers about in praise like he belonged to a choir. Steve is as discrete as he can be when he whips his phone out and records the performance, but he practically dies when Bucky falls out in a dramatic split at the end of "Zero to Hero," and stops recording.

"You wanna know why I really love this movie?" he suddenly says after his breath is back to normal and he's stuffing his face with a candy bar.

"Tell me."

"You and Hercules are, like, the _same_ person," he says, mouth occupied with chocolate.

"How so?" Steve wonders, seeing no comparison.

"Well, for starters, both of you guys were once pancakes. Now you're pound cakes. And you're both really nice - almost _too_ nice with hearts _too_ big for your bodies. Underdogs, too. The odds are sometimes against you, but you prevail thorough sheer wit and determination. Both of you are kinda awkward, still searching on where to belong but have clear ideas on what they want out of life," he explains easily, looking up at Steve from his place on Steve's lap. "All it takes is a little heroism. Courage. Hmm?"

Steve couldn't help but nod. "Seems about right."

Bucky smirks and eats another candy bar. His body'll hate him tomorrow, but for right now it's fine and he truly doesn't care. He turns back to the TV screen to find Megara and Hercules an inch from their first kiss before Phil and Pegasus obnoxiously interrupt. He and Steve both giggle until something dawns on him.

"If you're Hercules,_ I'm_ Meg. Your sassy, beautiful, headstrong, no-nonsense, brunet love interest that has had his heart broken, untrusting of everything until he meets the punk ass god of an artist who proved him wrong."

"That's not true," Steve says seriously and Bucky's expected something sentimental till that playful smirk stretches onto Steve's face. "I don't think you're all _that_ beautiful."

Bucky hits him in the chest and laughs along with him. They continue to watch the movie with minimal song interruptions, and it's not till Meg and Hercules finally get their first kiss does another brilliant idea pops in Bucky's head that night. He gets excited and is immediately to his feet, dragging a very confused Steve along to the front door to see if any other costume stores would be open this late.

* * *

"This shit comes off right?"

"Quit squirming," Darcy snaps and grabs a tissue from the counter to run under Bucky's eye. "And yes, it does. Just use face wash and hot water."

"Don't have any face wash," Bucky tells her, eyes facing forward so to not disturb her as she applies liquid eyeliner to his top eyelid.

She smirks. "Then I hope you'll enjoy having dark smudges under your eyes for the next few days," she comments and inspects her work compared to the cartoon Megara reference photo she's pulled up on her phone. Steve watches as Darcy professionally evens out the wings on both of Bucky's eyelids before waving her hands in his face to let them dry.

Looking back at all the times he and Bucky have had so far, he never thought that one of them would _ever_ include Bucky sitting on his bathroom counter getting makeup applied while wearing fake breasts, a corset, a silk, purple, Grecian dress, and hair extensions pulled into a high ponytail. Some would laugh at the thought, but he's actually impressed and stunned by how feminine Bucky looks right now. The makeup contouring and fake eyelashes complement his already female like features, and Darcy has made a good job out of turning Bucky into Megara. Gosh, he _wants_ to laugh, but he can't find it funny. He actually looks more beautiful than downright ridiculous. Sure, the metal arm sticks out and it baffled Darcy at first, but she kept it entirely cool and ignored it as long as it stayed out of her way of transforming Bucky .

He suddenly feels self conscious and under dressed in his gladiator costume that showed off a good portion of his chest and thighs. They'd managed to find the Hercules costume at a local Halloween store, but he refused to wear the itchy, orange wig and stuck with combing his hair down.

Darcy pulls different brushes out of her case and dabs other colors on Bucky's cheeks and lips for another fifteen minutes before putting a curling wand through his very long hair and fixing his fake breasts. Darcy is a magician for having all of this handy and managing to turn Bucky into an entirely different person just moments before they are set to leave for trick or treating then Sam's party.

The second Bucky turns and looks in the mirror at himself, Mischka strolls into the bathroom with Carter dressed in her witch costume. Her eyes widen, and Steve thinks she might start crying but a guffaw comes out instead, making Bucky's eyes just toll dramatically to stare her down. She shuts her mouth, but it doesn't stop her from giggling till her face is red.

"Making fun of my work, kid?" Darcy challenges innocently, hands on her hips and head cocked to the side.

"Daddy looks pretty," she says and lifts herself up onto the counter to get a closer look at Darcy's work. Bucky pretends not to be concerned with his daughter's reaction as he turns and twists his face into different expressions to see how the makeup effects it. He bats his lashes for a moment and slings his new hair around to see it move.

"Do I look good, wonder boy? You're staring pretty hard right about now," he snickers, looking at Steve through the mirror. Steve's still in amazement, but he tries not to show it when he opens his mouth to answer, but shuts it when he really can't think of an answer. Dressing in drag had been Bucky's idea, and he's thoroughly shocked at what a good idea it'd been. It's scary how much like a woman Bucky looks despite his huge arms and Adam's Apple. With the winged eyeliner, long hair, purple lipstick, and fake tits? He'd make a hot chick.

"What're you supposed to be?" The child asks, unimpressed by their costume choices. Bucky scoffs and flips his ponytail to the other side of his face.

"Megara. Friends call me Meg. Least they would if I had any friends," Bucky recites as sassy as he can, making Darcy laugh but leaving Steve and Mischka confused.

"Oh, c'mon, Steve, you watched it with me last night," Bucky insists, blinking at him hopefully, but Steve just shrugs. He turns to his daughter next and pokes her gently in her chest. "You'd know what it is if you liked _Disney_ like a normal kid."

"Most I can remember is you dancing around, acting a straight fool," Steve recalls, laughing when he thinks about the video on his phone. Bucky's grey eyes scan him up and down for a quick moment as he leans his human hand on the marble counter before briefly giving Darcy a knowing look and opening his mouth. Anyone would guess he's about to say something snarky, but it throws Steve and Mischka highly off guard when he begins to _sing_.

_"If there's a prize for rotten judgement, I guess I've already won that...No man is worth the aggravation-" Bucky flicks a dismissive hand in Steve's direction - "That's ancient history...Been there, done that!"_

Before Steve can get a "wait, what?" in, Darcy pipes in with a voice as pretty as Bucky's to assist him in the song. Highly confused, Mischka side eyes Steve as though he'd have answer as to what they're witnessing. He's just as lost when he watches Bucky strut around his bathroom, gyrating his hips and swinging his ponytail about.

"_Who'd you think you're kiddin'? He's the Earth and Heaven to ya!-"_ Darcy points at Steve now, bouncing in place while Bucky sings miscellaneous notes - _"Try to keep it hidden...Honey, we can see right through ya! __Girl, you can't conceal it...We know how you feel and who you're thinking of..."_

"_Ooh_," Bucky exaggerates his voice and dances beside a giddy Darcy who's smirking and swaying her hips in tune with Bucky's. _"No chance, No way! I won't say it, no, no..."_

Darcy slides in adjacent to Steve and gestures around his huge physique as though to present him to Bucky. Realizing what's going on, Steve turns pink and leans against the counter next to Mischka with a tight lipped smile he refuses to let show how much he low key enjoys this.

"_You swoon, you sigh...Why deny it? Uh-oh..."_

Bucky wags his finger to indicate a no towards Steve with pursed lips as he continues to sing. _"It's too cliché... I__ won't say I'm in love...I thought my heart had learned it's lesson...It feels so good when you start out...My head is screaming "Get a grip, girl!" Unless you're dying to cry your heart out...Oh!"_

Darcy flashes her hands about and follows Bucky around with overexcited expressions, singing at the top of her lungs while Bucky's twirling and embracing his inner Disney princess. Steve makes no attempt to be subtle when he pulls his phone out to record the remainder of the performance.

_"You keep on denying who you are and how you're feeling...Baby, were not buying...Hon, we saw you hit the ceiling...Face it like a grown-up! When you gonna own up that you got, got, got it ba-ad?"_

Bucky makes it a mission to sing right into the camera perfectly confident in his voice when he hits notes higher than he usually would. _"No chance, no way! I won't say it, no, no..."_

Darcy points her manicured fingers to Bucky's pouty yet self pleased smirk. _"Give up, give in! Check the grin, you're in love..."_

A metal hand waves in Steve's face as though to shoo him off._ "This scene won't play! I won't say I'm in love..."_

Darcy theatrically grabs both Steve and Bucky's hands to pull them together. Steve doesn't resist while Bucky shyly approaches him with an awed glint in his eyes when he stares up at Steve.

_"You're doin' flips, read our lips: You're in love_," Darcy trills happily and pushes Bucky the rest of the way into Steve's embrace.

The blond goes to take his hand, but Bucky snatches it away as though offended while maintaining to sing in character. _"You're way off base, I won't say it.. Get off my case! I won't say it..."_

Darcy's hips bump the man in drag right into Steve's arms, getting him center frame of the video recording._ "Girl, don't be proud...It's okay you're in love..."_

And then Bucky finally cracks and lets himself genuinely smile before taking Steve's unoccupied hand and weaving their fingers together tightly when he sings the final lyrics into the camera. _"O-o-ohhh...At least out loud,"_ he croons and presses a kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth. _"I won't say I'm in luuuuuh-"_

The rest of the lyrics doesn't make it out before Steve's got his lips locked around Bucky's tenderly as to not scar Mischka for life. He pulls away and Bucky's lipstick is only slightly smudged and the rush to his cheek is beyond the colors of whatever blush Darcy used. The little girl makes a disgusted sound and mumbles something about still not understanding their costumes and being late for trick or treating. The men ignore her and Darcy's panicked protests about them ruining his makeup. Even though Steve had a tint of purple on his lips now, he really didn't care.

What really matters is not that they'll probably be the best looking at the party, but that he's honored and proud to have grown so close to Bucky that he feels comfortable being his true, goofy, metal armed self around him like a second nature. He's truly proud he has video proof to make him laugh at how incredibly silly his Bucky truly is behind closed doors. Where has _this_ dork been all his life?

* * *

Even before meeting Bucky and after ending his last relationship, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't imagined what it'd be like to explore a relationship with Darcy. She's lovable and just his type, intellectually _and_ physically. He figures he _would've_ had a shot with her if he'd been less reclusive through the years and actually made attempts to go back into the office, but at this point, it really didn't matter. He's grateful for their flirtatiously playful friendship and how they can tease one another without the other getting offended - that's the extent of it. A friendship. Steve's never had the wandering eye, but then being friends never stopped him from noticing how fine Darcy is. It's _very_ hard _not_ to.

"_Damn_," Steve says under his breath when Darcy appears from out of his bathroom in her full body, black leather cat suit with matching ears stop her head and dark makeup. The suit fit all the right curves and edges of Darcy's well endowed frame so well that Steve had to shift in his costume to avoid getting too excited. Bucky looks at her get up, nods, and goes back to taking pictures of himself on his phone.

Even though Steve knew better than to leave a bowl of candy out in front of his apartment door with a sign that said "please take one," but it's what he could do to contribute since he's actually out in the streets of Brooklyn, going from door to door with Mischka, Darcy, and Bucky. The air is light with minimal wind changes that drift the faint smell of pumpkin pies, candy, and holiday season warmth. Autumn - _specifically_ Halloween- had been something he'd always loved, but he forgot how much he did since this is his first Halloween that hadn't been spent either in his apartment or at Sam's Halloween party at the VA office.

Bucky looks at him wildly when the man actually begins to skip like the children around them hyped off of candy and the excitement of the holiday. He just kisses him hard on the mouth and twirls his fingers through Bucky's ponytail, no words needed because everything he feels can't be expressed orally.

Darcy and Mischka travel hand in hand from house to house with Steve and Bucky only a few feet back. They'd hit up seven houses on this block, and Mischka's candy bag is already half full. The street gets darker and quieter by the time nine o' clocks rolls around which is usually when the littler kids go inside and the teenagers take over to sniff out trouble. Brooklyn teenagers were already rowdy, and something about Halloween only made them more rebellious. Darcy, Mischka, Bucky, and Steve are the last few trick or treaters making it inside when the loud motorbike's revved engines split the quiet of the street when they come skidding down the block. Steve groans and rolls his eyes at the four or five teenagers on their bikes purposely making their bikes louder to annoy the residents. This happens every fucking year and he _hates_ it.

They do donuts, whoop loudly, and scatter toilet paper in the streets with shit eating grins, making Steve's jaw tight. Darcy ignores them because she seems used to it while Bucky's hold on Mischka's gets tighter as he shields her with his legs.

"Why're they being so loud?" She asks curiously.

"Cus they're assholes," Steve answers blatantly and the little girls eyeballs him sharply.

"That's a _bad_ word."

"Well, they're doing bad stuff, so it fits," Bucky explains and shuffles her along faster. "C'mon, let's get back quick. I'm _not_ trying to choke someone's kid out tonight."

As if on cue, the gang of teenagers take notice of the four of them and ride over in the most distracting way possible. "Fuck," Steve mutters and is a second shy of telling them off before Bucky's takes his hand and squeezes it.

"Aye, Catwoman!" one of them whistles and rides along the sidewalk at the same pace as their walking. Darcy doesn't even pay him any mind while Steve is itching to end this before it even starts. "Baby, I know you hear me. You look fine as fuck. Just try'na figure out if I could be Batman or something."

His friends laugh at that while Darcy leans further into Steve to whisper. "Times like this I wish I bought the whip that comes with this outfit."

"Sweetheart, I _know_ you hear me," he says again. Steve turns to look at the punk, and he's probably about sixteen or seventeen. "Catwoman is my favorite superhero. Or villain. Whatever you want," he goes on and Steve growls lowly in his throat, resisting to do what he really wants to do and does the alternative. Instinctively, Steve's palm grasps over the leathery cheek of Darcy's backside to pull her nearer. She gasps and doesn't even make to pull away when Steve looks over her shoulder to address the punks.

"She's _taken_! Go ride along _now_!" He yells defensively and presses his fingers deeper into her ass all the while trying to ignore how good it felt to do so. She keeps her strides together despite being just as turned on as Steve is. Bucky pretends not to see and keeps walking with Mischka on his other side, left arm ready to swing if it should come to that.

Fortunately, it doesn't. After another two minutes of reckless heckling and harassment, Steve places a quick peck on her forehead for emphasis and glares as hard as he can at the young ones hoping they'll take the hint and go on their way before angering Steve further. It pretty hard to take them seriously since he's half naked with gladiator sandals on, wielding a fake sword.

Bucky's hidden metal hand squeezes in time with his heartbeat as a physical way of telling him to just let it go and let it be. They're only a few blocks to the apartment, and it doesn't have to turn into a fight, principally because Mischka's present and the last thing she needed to witness is her father and potential stepdad beating up a bunch of rude teenagers. It's moments like this or that time at Hydra with Sharon that spook Steve to think that one day Mischka's going to be a grown, mature woman who'll, unfortunately, more than likely face the kind of harassment all women had to endure doing something as simple as walking down the street. It made his heart ache to think that his precious ballerina is growing up in a world with such injustice, and it's really scary to think that the same teenagers doing the most to get Darcy's attention would be the same punks in some years time doing the same thing to his daughter.

Well, _Bucky's_ daughter.

Steve's face is probably red like a tomato by the time they reach the apartments. They still hadn't stopped following them which is the last straw for Steve, but Bucky speaks up instead.

"As fun as it was fraternizing with you jerk offs, I suggest you get lost," he starts off calmly, stepping in front of Mischka and looking beyond Steve. He's probably giving them the evil eye, but it's hard to tell by how much makeup he has on.

"Oh? And if we don't, _faggot_?" One of them snidely remarks, revving his bike, the sound making Darcy and Mischka jump. Steve's ready to teach them a lesson just for using that word, but Bucky ironically laughs it off and juts his hip outward.

"_Don't_ let this dress fool you," he warns and Steve watches in amazement with raised eyebrows at how quickly Bucky goes from himself to a brazen diva.

"You won't do shit," another one of them yells in retaliation.

"I will snatch this weave right out and beat you like you stole something if you even think about ever talking to my friend or _any_ other woman like that ever again," he threatens, tone deadly yet still somehow animated. It's almost dead panned and sarcastic. "Someone oughta teach you assholes some respect," he continues and only lets Steve's hand go to flash his metal arm, wiping the smirks right off their frightened faces. It's a bold move and Steve wants to applaud but his hand is still glued to Darcy's ass.

"I _really _hope _I_ won't have to be the one to do so," he growls and flexes his arm casually, taking in the minor expressions and the way the punks' eyes shift in fear when he moves it before them.

"N-no," the ring leader mutters, eyes wide and body shaking.

"Good!" Bucky quips and waves with his flesh hand. "Happy Halloween!"

The teenagers laugh a little to ease the tension and put their hands up in defense, mockingly shaking their heads and riding in circles away from the four of them when they figure out Steve nor Bucky are not the ones to fuck with. Letting out a breath, Darcy smiles graciously up at Steve then Bucky.

"Thanks," she says and leans in a little bit closer than necessary into Steve's side. "My heroes."

"No problem, m'dear," Bucky salutes the rolls his eyes, falling back into character. "Well, you know how men are. They think 'No' means 'Yes' and 'Get lost' means 'Take me, I'm yours.'"

Darcy giggles at that. Steve misses out on the reference Bucky had made but he doesn't miss how bright her smile is even under dim street lights. Steve also doesn't miss the unsure look on Mischka's cute face as she scans the streets and then her father. Her tiny hand tightens around his flesh one as they ascend up the stairs to the apartment. He makes a mental note to have a talk with her later.

"Steve," Darcy calls him out of his deep thought. He hums and tears his eyes from the little girl to be met with Darcy's cheeky grin and pink cheeks. "You can let go of my ass now."

Not having realized his hand is still where it is, he retracts his hand back fast like he'd been burned. His baby blues don't meet hers out of embarrassment, but her tone isn't hostile when she thanks him a second time.

"Er, sorry," he mutters and gestures up the stairs to allow her to go first. "Um," he says awkwardly as Darcy swishes her hips with each step. He bites his lip harder than normal.

He shakes the feeling - the arousal he from Darcy as well as the guilt for Mischka seeing what she did - off by the time the three adults leave for the party. The tyke is to spend a second night at Kitty's apartment.

They arrive in the height of the party. There's the stereotypical ghostly pumpkin and skeleton decorations on the ceilings and doorways draped with cobwebs along; Similar decorations, finger food, and a punch bowl stand on concession tables in the hallway leading towards the main room of the office where most of the meetings took place. Various colors and shapes flash when first arriving due to the disco lights and ridiculous costumes floating around. The office looks as haunting and spooky as it does every year.

Bucky's hand tightens around Steve as the three of them stand in the doorway, searching for where to start. The blond turns to him and whispers directly into his ear to be heard over the loud, bumping bass of the stereo system.

"Are you okay?"

Bucky takes a second to nod after being distracted by some of the costume he's seeing. "Yeah, just, wow. S'lot going on."

"That's how it usually is," Steve tells him and scans the room for a sign of Sam before discovering him at the deejay stand, in a Michael Jackson circa nineteen seventy something costume, dancing around the box like he didn't have a care in the world. Steve waves for his attention and tags Bucky along through the crowd towards the deejay box stand. He follows behind willingly, never letting his hand go.

"Hey, look who made it!" He exclaims and daps Steve up before taking in his costume. "Wow! Look at you. Gladiator!"

Steve nods and gestures towards Bucky by his side with a shy smirk. Sam eyes Bucky, confused and clearly not recognizing him till the younger man waves his metal fingers at Sam. His whole face brightens like a puppy seeing its human before bursting into a hearty laugh and clapping at the dedication they'd put forth to their costumes.

"No!" He cheers and slaps his knee twice. "Lemme guess - Hercules," he points at Steve then to Bucky. "Meg."

"Has _everyone_ seen this movie but me?" Steve shouts jokingly, pressing a kiss to Bucky's temple with a hidden smile.

"You'd have to be an old ass man to have never seen _Hercules_," Sam mentions and Bucky's arm gesture to the other man in understanding and realization. Thank God Bucky isn't the only one who can read Steve so well.

"Right?!" He exclaims.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, make fun of the old guy," he groans and searches around to find Darcy. She's migrated to the hallway where she awkwardly holds a cup of punch in two hands, tossing her hand from left to right to find somewhere to be without that usual confident smile on her face. Steve suddenly feels bad for leaving her considering she didn't really know Sam or anybody here that well and she was only invited because Steve had a heart of gold and wouldn't let her be alone on Halloween since her and Ian broke up.

Not only that, but it's nice seeing Darcy outside of the office.

Bucky's deep in conversation with Sam about their costumes when he whispers he'll be right back into his ear. Steve makes his way trough the thick crowd with his eyes zeroed in on Darcy, and he reaches her just in time when it seems like she looks absolutely hopeless and ready to leave.

"Hey," she quirks up and takes a sip of punch. "I expected this to have alcohol in it, but sadly it doesn't," she tells him and swirls the cup around.

Steve laughs and nods. "Um, yeah. Wouldn't seem right to let a bunch war vets to drink away their problems on the most dangerous night of the year," he says and it reminds him of what happened earlier. "Hey, you okay?"

She seems thrown off by the question. She flips her hair out of her face and adjusts her cat ears. "Um, yeah. I'm used to that kinda thing," she admits, waving it off and bouncing with the muffled beat coming from the meeting room.

"That's a shame."

Darcy shrugs and takes another swig. "Where's Bucky?"

"Talking with Sam. Kind of a dick move to leave you all by yourself in a strange place."

She rolls her eyes but there's no fire behind it. In fact, she's got hearts in her eyes when she glances back up at Steve. "I'm a big, tough girl. I can tie my own sandals and everything," she assures him, but the uppity cheerfulness in her voice is somehow uncharacteristic.

"You and Buck gotta quit making these references. I understand, like, twelve percent of them," he says, hoping to cheer her up but her smile is forced.

For as long as he's been knowing this woman, he can spot the phoniness when it presents itself. He's never known Darcy to be a chipper human being and all he can think about it how scared she must've been with what happened tonight. She'd usually be the type to cuss one of the jerks out; what's got her so _shaken_?

His own smile drops and his hands cup her shoulders. "Darcy? What's the matter?"

He doesn't expect her eyes to get watery or for her voice to crack when she opens her mouth to speak.

"Ian," she says without further explanation needed before Steve's got his arms around her and pulling her close to his nearly bare chest. He feels tears trickle down his skin and squeezes her.

"Aw," he hums and sits her down on the staircase with her head buried deep into his neck where Bucky would be. "Darcy, Darcy, my dear sweet Darcy," he coos into her hair and pets the side of her head.

"We were gonna be M-M-Mr. and M-M-Mrs. Smith f-f-for Halloween," she stutters, tears streaming down her pale face, but she doesn't even attempt to wipe them. Steve does it for her and continues to soothe her down with whispered reassurances that she didn't need Ian despite not knowing the details of the split. He remembers getting the call early in the morning before Bucky woke up or getting to his jog with Carter. Darcy was in hysterics, going on and on about how heartbroken she was and he rushed right over on his bike to have her open the door with red eyes and tissues and a pint of chocolate ice cream. It was nearly adorable how her pouted her lips were and how she immediately rushed into Steve's arms the way she is now.

He'd met her best friend, Jane, once or twice but she explained she was out of town, and he was the next best thing to comfort her. Steve tried his damnedest to do so and _not_ laugh at how fucking adorable it was to hear her whine like Mischka about how badly she was hurting about some worthless dude he knew she's too good for.

"We were supposed to be so _cu-u-u-u-te_," she huffs and cries even harder into Steve's skin, grabbing a strict hold on his costume.

"I know, hon," he tells her just so she knows he's listening. "It's okay. Let it out."

Several songs and another fresh round of tears go by before Bucky rounds the corner out the office and catches sight of them. His ecstatic and cheerful expression drenched in sweat from dancing quickly vanishes when he sees the position his boyfriend and Darcy are in. His glare is accusatory at first, then when he takes note of her shaking form and ducked head, he softens and mouths _"What's wrong with her?"_ to Steve.

He just shakes his head with tight lips and gives a patient look that says_ "I'll explain later." _

Even though it's hidden behind pounds of makeup, Steve can detect the disappointment on his face. That guilty rush washes through him with a wave of anxiety to assist it when he realizes just that not only is Darcy upset but so's Bucky. He didn't wanna be the cause for that, and he's in a pretty compromising situation. He wants to enjoy the party and dance with Bucky on their first Halloween together, but he can't have any fun in that when Darcy's hurting as much as she is.

Instead of ignoring the look on Bucky's face, he returns it apologetically and mouths "I'm sorry." The repugnant frown on his boyfriend's face is no less than stiflingly unamused when he turns around and goes back into the office.

Darcy cries more for another fifteen minutes till she finally pops up out of Steve's neck with her mascara running off her lashes and down her cheeks, nose redder than her puffy eyes. "I'm h-holding you from the party," she realizes and wipes her face. "It's okay if you wanna go and dance and have a good time and be with Bucky. I shouldn't keep you-"

"No, it's okay," Steve insists and brings the sad woman toward him to kiss her forehead. "You deserve to just cry it out. I'm here as long as you need me."

She chuckles wetly and gives him a ghost of a smile. "I'm _always_ gonna need you, Steve," she confesses and wipes her face with a single finger, taking all her makeup with it. Darcy rises and faces him. "I'm gonna go get myself together in the bathroom. I'll be right out."

"Okay," he says and nods his head while she crosses the hallways passed other party goers to get to the ladies' room. He sits on the steps, twiddling his thumbs with Bucky on his mind, somehow managing to feel worse than he did before. His head is hung to avoid being looked at.

Darcy comes out the bathroom, natural faced with a red tint over her aura and skin. Steve gives her a polite smile, and she returns it gratefully, similar to the way she had earlier in the night. It's not fake this time, so Steve stands to give her a hug.

"You feel better?"

"A little," she sniffles and pulls away to glance up at him. "Can we go back to the party?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, of course! Gotta make up time."

Her tone seems genuine, so he guides her through the party towards Bucky and Sam at the deejay booth. Maria - in a clever Smooth Criminal costume - is there, too. Steve politely introduces Darcy to Sam and Maria who take quite a liking to her when she lets her regularly witty personal win them over. Once he sees she's okay and secure in starting a conversation with Maria, Steve finds his boyfriend and twirls him towards his chest, catching the man off guard.

"There's my Meg," he whispers in his ears, Bucky chuckles then unties himself from Steve's embrace. "Wanna dance?"

"You know I can't," the brunet reminds him and gives a suggestive smirk, helping him remember how that night went down.

"You seem to be sweating like you are," Steve notices and wipes his forehead despite the makeup.

"Sam let me deejay for a little," he explains and lets himself be pulled to the crowded and heated dance floor anyway.

"Remember what I taught you," Steve yells over the music, never letting go of Bucky's hand when they find a spot on the outskirts of the dancing mob. "The one two step? Turn around like I showed ya."

Bucky does as told and presses himself against Steve's front, deliberately pushing backward towards the other man's body in the most teasing way. Steve's not stupid and he doesn't miss the way those hips of his sway to find Steve's crotch. He chooses to not notice and goes on with his step, in time with the hip hop song playing over the stereos, encouraging Bucky to do the same but he has other things on his mind.

The men grind effortlessly through a series of songs, uncaring if they were on beat or not. Steve would say he feels like a teenager again, but he'd never experienced this shit when he was in high school. Of course, he watched and envied all those who had dates, and as nasty and vulgar as the dancing was, it made Steve hard and he had no clue how to deal with that at that age. This felt nothing like how it did at Hydra since he's participating in the tasteless dancing now, and he takes back every judgement he ever made about young people because this felt _fucking good. _

At this point in the night, he didn't care who saw or watched when he puts a light hand on the small of Bucky's back to bend him forward in the slightest. Bucky complies with a dirty smirk and edges over to press his ass into Steve more than it already is, quickly catching onto the idea. Those artist hands of his wrap around Bucky's hips and memorize the muscles there as though he were about to sculpt him out in a mess of clay. There's a light squeeze in their contact, and Steve abruptly presses his crotch towards the silk dent of Bucky's dress going between his ass cheeks. It sends a shiver through the both of them, and if the music weren't so loud, their moans could be heard.

The dancing gets them hyped and sweating more than they had before not only because of the active bodies around them radiating heat, but it's the _rush_ of being _so dirty_ in such a public environment. Steve's _never_ done anything like this before; he's excited and frantic and hornier than what he'd expected to be. The way Bucky's against him and chasing friction more than focusing on staying rhythmic is enough to drive him fucking insane. Through hooded eyelids, he reviews Bucky's body doing numbers on his hardening dick, looking back with mischievous glances because he's a little shit who does whatever necessary to bring Sir out to play.

But little does Bucky know that this is the _last_ place Sir needs to come out. Steve's just as much a little shit as Bucky with no problem of turning his humiliation fantasy into a reality. Whatever Sir does, Steve can't take responsibility for. He doesn't even flinch when he gets Bucky by his ponytail and yanks him with a yelp so they're chest to back.

"Baby boy, I don't think you want me to do what you think you want me to do," he hisses right into the shell of Bucky's ear, not missing how quick his breaths and choked his moans come out. The frame of the younger man vibrates immensely against Steve, physically telling him he wants it. He needs it. That bottom lip is out and those grey eyes are wide, knowing exactly then again unsure of what the hell his Sir is about to do.

"Whaddyou want, baby, hmm?" he asks just to disregard his answer.

"I want you t-to-" he starts but can't finish. He has no clue what he wants unlike Steve who knows exactly what he wants, but he can't give it to him until they're alone.

"Shh, honey, I know," Steve coos right into his temple, placing wet kisses on his baby hairs. "You want Sir to take care of you?"

"Jesus, Stevie," he whines and continues to grind against his boyfriend's erection. "_Please_, lemme-"

"No, no, no," he interrupts and kisses his face again, making them both shiver. "When we get home, you're gonna tell me what else you like, okay? I need to know how to take care of you."

Bucky shivers another handful of times just from hearing that. That glint in his eyes, that pout in his lips - he knows damn fucking well he's going to get it good when they get home for tempting Steve like this. He's not sure how he wants to punish his baby boy for teasing him. Should he spank him? Make him wait and suffer till Steve's ready to touch him. He should have him keep the extensions in just to tug on them harsh as hell when he's hitting his ass from the back. He knows it's downright _immoral_ to tease Bucky like this. He can't even fathom or dare to imagine being in his baby boy's difficult position of conflicting emotions where he's dead scared and excited for what Steve has in store for him. The thought of Steve's penis alone is enough to have him shaking in fear yet still _aroused_.

As much as he wants to enjoy the rest of the party, Steve's put Bucky in such a mood that he can't even focus. He knew better than to coax that side out of Steve, but he's childish, selfish,and didn't like the way he's been eyeing Darcy the entire night. Bucky needed to remind him just who the fuck his baby is. It's Bucky and _no one else_; doesn't matter how tight the cat suit is.

The older man can tell how distracted and clingy Bucky is after their dance. With their hands clasp together and never letting go, they travel around the party being friendly and chatting with fake smiles to hide how they're truly burning to get home and tear each other apart. Bucky's getting the worst of it because he's the more impatient of the two, and he's not particularly slick in letting his Sir know that. The whimpers and pleads he lets out when he thinks Steve isn't paying attention are a little too precious for Steve to handle, and he almost takes pity on him. There's a crease in Buck's forehead when he scrunches his eyes together to keep from crying, which almost breaks Steve enough to take him to the bathroom and jerk him off. Instead, he kisses the crease away and whispers for him to be a good boy.

The party lasts another two whole hours. Two whole hours that Bucky suffers, whines, and tugs on Steve's arm like a toddler begging to get what he wants. Bucky's relieved to leave until Steve is his usual polite self and stays behind the extra hour to help clean the office up. Steve never lets him out of his sight when he gets antsier and antsier as his erection rages harder and harder. When Darcy drops them off at the apartments, Steve takes his sweet time in saying goodbye and thanking her. When he hugs her, he licks his lips at Bucky over her shoulder. He doesn't take that well and a single tear is down his face the second they're in Bucky's apartment.

Neither men are gentle in shedding the other's costumes off. It takes a solid thirty seconds to a minute to get Steve entirely naked with Bucky in nothing but his hair extensions, back to the door, with his dick secure in Steve's hand. He's caressing each gentle and nervous moan out of him while Steve's own cock is pressed against Bucky's hip.

"You knew better than to tempt me like that earlier, didn't you?" he growls, not giving a single damn how loud he is. "_Didn't_ _you_?"

"Yes, sir," Bucky slurs, hands around Steve's neck, bracing himself and holding on for dear life in case Steve decides to toss him around to the couch or floor. "I knew better."

"Then why'd you do it?"

The brunet's expression is a brink away from embarrassed. "'Cus I wanted to get your attention."

"My attention?"

Another tear falls from Bucky's eye. "Y-you were with Darcy," he says, genuinely sad, and it's the farthest thing from playing around. Steve stops his hand on his baby boy's cock, looks at him with exploratory eyes, and clicks his tongue in shame at how upset he truly hurt him tonight by doing all he did with Darcy even if it was from a platonic, friendly spot in his heart. This - Bucky going this extra mile to get Steve's attention - really shines light on what he'd been trying to explain to Steve yesterday. He's _needy_. He likes attention. He likes being spoiled. He likes all that from Steve and _nothing_ less. The mere idea of Steve giving a sliver of that affection to someone other than him has him in these sheepish tears, and it breaks Steve's whole heart.

It's the way Bucky's programmed. He's the baby. He's always been someone's baby.

"Ah," Steve realizes and kisses along his baby boy's chattering jaw. "Baby, don't cry."

"B-but you-"

"But _nothing_," he says and kisses him firmly on his purple lips. "You know you don't have anything to worry about when it comes to Darcy, right? Or anybody. You know _you're my baby_. You know there's no one else I'd rather touch, kiss, or worship. No one," Steve tries to sound reassuring, but he feels that confident Sir in him slipping when Bucky's slowly coming apart right before him. He didn't mean to hurt his feelings.

Letting his cock go, Steve places both hands on each side of Bucky's face to force him to look in his trusting baby blue eyes. "Baby," he whispers and puts their foreheads together. "Baby, look at me."

Bucky obeys, but it only makes another tear drop from his eyes, streaking his face and down his chin. He's staring right into Steve's soul, shaking like he's recovering from an orgasm.

"Is that why you're crying?"

That pert lower lip of his gets between his teeth when he bites it avoid whimpering aloud. "Yes, sir," he cries.

"You think Darcy and I -"

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before Bucky's nodding and falling into Steve's open stance just as Darcy had earlier. The safe haven of Steve's arms enclose around him like a cocoon in which he can just cry.

Unlike earlier, Steve knows just what to say now.

"Bucky, you know how much you mean to me, right? You know I've been alone and waited too long for you to come along to want someone else. I wouldn't give up what we've got for the hottest piece of ass in a cat suit or a million dollars or anything, okay?"

The younger man nods and leans into Steve's touch.

"Now, I apologize for making you feel like this," Steve goes on and places delicate kisses long his boyfriend's face. God, he's an idiot for not realizing how much he needed to assure Bucky more often. "I didn't mean to hurt you tonight. Can you forgive me?"

There's silence for a second until Bucky nods with a sigh against Steve's chest and wraps his arms around his torso to ensure he's never gonna let his Sir go. Steve brushes along his hair and kisses him some more before pulling them apart and taking a quick nip out of his bottom lip. His thumbs wipe away the tears descending down Bucky's face and some makeup disappears.

"Can you let me make you feel good?" Steve wonders, guiding his face upwards to keep their eyes locked. Bucky nods and kisses Steve hard to keep in another cry. Never letting the other's lips go, they make their way to the bedroom and Bucky's latched around Steve, desperately grinding his erection against him, gasping at the rush of warm skin to such a sensitive area. He's crying even more, biting his lip while Steve preps him with three fingers and hushed promises to make him feel good. The condom's on and Steve's deep inside his Bucky five minutes later, letting Bucky ride him at the pace he deems necessary for his body.

"What you did last night," he suddenly moans, head thrown back, Adam's apple exposed. Steve sits upward to get a row of hickies scattered on his neck.

"Yeah?" he says between bites.

"I liked that. D-do more stuff like that," he tells him, bouncing harder into Steve's lap.

"What else? Hmm? Tell me, babe," Steve presses, licking a line straight over Bucky's jugular vein.

"I've wanted to try s-something with you. Oh, _fuck_, Steve, m'gonna come..."

"Try what?"

Bucky grounds himself harder and deeper onto Steve's cock, all nine inches buried snugly, right against his prostrate. He shrieks and has no problem fucking himself harder off of Steve, brain scattered to bits and seeing flashing lights behind his hadn't even heard Steve who uses rough hands to slow Bucky down. The other man falters his hips and licks sweat aimlessly off of Steve's forehead as he slurps and kisses, worriedly whimper in confusion as to why Steve is delaying his orgasm.

"Try what?" Steve asks again, once he has him back on the same track as him.

And then, it's the quickest shift. It's like a switch goes off in Bucky's head telling him to suddenly play coy and try to hide his face from Steve like a kitten. The older man chuckles and kisses his face repeatedly.

"Uh-uh, Buck, don't play shy now. You're already riding my dick - ain't nothing to be embarrassed about now. Tell me."

Bucky's voice is small and frail when he opens his mouth. "I wanted to try out something. A pet name, kinda."

"For me?"

Bucky nods. " I ,ugh, can I call you Daddy?"

Steve swallows and his entire face gets ten times hotter.

He can't pinpoint _why_, but he has the sudden urge to flip this man over and fuck him raw and doggie style till he can't fucking walk or talk or do anything for that matter. It's _never_ crossed his mind, but the idea of Bucky referring to him as Daddy as well as Sir during play time get his cock pulsing right in Bucky's ass. For the love of God, he wants to buy this man every diamond or pearl or whatever luxury in the world at the idea of his fragile baby boy shouting out "Daddy!" as he comes everywhere. He wants to wreck him all of a sudden. Jesus, he wants to get him against a wall and make him come just from Steve talking down on him like he said he loves.

Fuck, he _really_ needs that. He _really_ wants to be called Daddy.

Steve clears his throat and releases Bucky's hips, silent permission to keep moving.

"You wanna call me 'Daddy,' baby boy?" he asks, leaning till he's flat on his back again.

The brunet smiles at how evil and hungry Steve sounds. The little shit knows _exactly_ what the fuck he's doing.

He knows what Steve likes before Steve does, and normally it'd get Steve to go quiet and red at how well he reads him, but now he's _furious_ at Bucky's act to get him to reveal himself and all his unknown desires before he even knew they were his own. This isn't going to work for long; he needs to put this man in his rightful place. The place that doesn't play Steve or manipulatively doesn't fuck with his head. Out of pure instinct of the testy game they play, a sharp slap goes across Bucky's right ass cheek, making him scream and rush to get his orgasm, His dick flops about freely in Steve's direction. Steve does nothing to hurry the process along by keeping his hands around Bucky's hips which is clearly driving him mad when he's tearing up at the over stimulation and just wants to get his high.

He'll learn his lesson.

"Say it!" Steve commands, spanking the right cheek again. "Say it, baby. _Call_ _me_ _Daddy_."

It's an order. Bucky always fucking obeys his orders - _especially_ if they come from Steve.

"Oh, _Daddy_," he calls out strained, fingers locked on Steve's torso, unavailable to stroke himself. "Sir, _fuck_...m'gonna come."

"Beautiful," Steve comments with a grin. "Keep going. Make yourself come, greedy lil' slut."

"Shit!" he exclaims and lowers himself to kiss Steve, but it ends up being more wet, uncoordinated mouthing against Steve's chin than actually kisses. Their chests are touching and nearly sticking with the amount of sweat drenching them both.

"Oh, you like that? Ya like being Daddy's little slut? Huh?"

"Ah, _fuck_..." Bucky's eyes are rolling to the back of his head at the pure ecstasy Steve's seeping into his ear along with the ruthless assault against his prostrate. "_Fuck_, _fuck_, _fuck_..."

"That's right," Steve continues, spanking him a third time and keeping his palm glued there to guide Bucky in his riding. "Ride Daddy's dick," he encourages and turns himself all the way on at how _delicious_ that sounds coming out of his mouth. Bucky won't last much longer, so they might as well make the most of it.

"Answer me, baby boy. You like being Daddy's little slut?"

"Yes," he barely whispers, face buried in between Steve's pecs.

"Yes _what_?"

"Yes, _Daddy_. Yes, _Sir_. Yes, _yes_, yes, oh _please_, yes. I like being your slut," he chants louder, going faster over top of him. He's dazed out and all he can focus on is the hopeful glint in Steve's eyes that's feeding him to keep going so they can both come. He forces his tired body on even passed the numbness he feels in his legs to stroke the best damn orgasm he can get out of himself and Steve. "I like being your slut...I like riding your Daddy dick till I come, oh fuck, Steve,_ I'm gonna come..."_

Bucky's true to his word. The men squeeze around each other hopelessly when the explosive nature of the orgasms shocks right through them at the same time. Steve's more reserved in just whispering Bucky's name against his skin while Bucky's a shaking mess, riding out the rest of the feeling while begging in a less than hushed tone for his Daddy or Sir to _keep_ _fucking_ _him_. Off guard, Steve just looks up at him worriedly and seeing as though his lower half hadn't stopped despite coming half his weight onto Steve's abdomen, Steve follows his command for a change and pumps with whatever energy he has left in his half hard cock to get Bucky there a second time.

"Oh, Daddy, _thank youuuuuu_-" he mewls out brokenly when the second orgasm takes him by surprise, and he finally surrenders to his body to stop and rest despite how he wants to ask for a third, fourth, and fifth go around. His breathing is choppy and takes longer to get regulated. He's dead weight atop of Steve after a minute of calming down and just like he usually does, Steve begins to laugh as though it breaks the spell and turns them back into Steve and Bucky until their next play time. Maybe it's out of embarrassment or shock that he giggles afterwards, but he can't help it. He feels less ridiculous when Bucky joins in, but this time he doesn't. Instead, a huge grin is on his face and his eyes are closed with his eyelashes stuck together from sweat and tears.

Steve turns him on his side to remove the condom and goes wide eyed that it'd busted. He removes it and places it on the nightstand since he's not sure his legs are strong enough to take him all the way to the trash bin in the bathroom.

The younger man is soothed and breathing easier now and he's unexpectedly not asleep. He always struggles to stay awake after fucking Steve, but he forces himself to so they can have their usual talk before dozing off in each other's arms.

Steve's a minute into carding his fingers through Bucky's fake hair when he talks first.

"You like the Daddy thing?" He asks Bucky. He nods and blinks once before fully closing his eyes again.

"It's kinda the first thing that popped into my head when I first saw you."

"So, why have you been calling me 'sir' this whole time?"

He shrugs and edges closer to Steve. "Most people get freaked out by the Daddy thing because they're prude enough to actually think of their fathers when they say it," he chuckles and places a smooch on Steve's nipple. "You seem to like it."

"I do. I _love_ it," he agrees, nodding. "Didn't know I did till you asked."

"As much as I liked it," he exhales and wraps himself around Steve to be taken into his arms. "I'd still like to call you 'sir.' Is that alright with you?"

"As long as you still let me call you my baby boy."

Yeah, Steve knows he's cheesy, but it gets an appreciative smile on his boyfriend's face.

"Always," he responds. "Now lemme sleep."

* * *

The next morning, - or rather a few hours later - it's November first.

Instead of waking up to Bucky's snoring and the comforting weight of his arm across his torso, he's accosted by the graceless bouncing of Mischka's tiny feet against his upper body.

"Wakey wakey!" she's cheering, all smiles and sunshine. It's hard to get agitated especially when she's as adorable as she is, so he turns over with a sly grin and she goes tumbling right off of him, landing on the side, bouncing against the springs of the mattress. She giggles and climbs back on top of him, poking him to assure he's up and awake. Well, he is now. He has no other choice but to be. These Barnes are gonna kill him.

"I'm up! I'm _up_, pipsqueak," he announces and sits up with the comforter carefully covering his body even though he'd put his boxers back on in the middle of the night. "What in the world are you so happy about? And why were you jumping on top of me?"

"To answer your question, Daddy made breakfast, it's almost noon, and he told me to come in here and _'get your ass up_'," she says like she's trying to remember Bucky's word verbatim, and Steve laughs.

"Okay," he accepts the answer and takes in that her hair's done and she's dressed up in white stockings, a white corduroy skirt, a fuzzy, red sweater, and Mary Janes. It's a Sunday, but he doesn't recall them being religious. "Where you headed?"

"You ask a _lot_ of questions," she answers with an eye roll. "Uncle Clint and Aunt Laura are taking me to church with them."

"Hmm? Why're you so interested in church all of a sudden?"

She shrugs and Steve's quick to call out her reddening cheeks. He knows _that_ look because Bucky gives it to him all the time. He points accusingly at her.

"Someone's gotta crush!"

"Yeah, so?" She crosses her arms over her chest defensively.

"Aw, you _do_! What happened to Pietro?"

"Well, I told him I liked him -"

"You told him you liked him?!" Steve exclaims incredulously. He really shouldn't be surprised, because she's ballsier than any grown man he's ever known.

"_Shhh_!" She quiets him with a hand over his mouth. "You want Daddy to hear you?"

Steve removes her hand and put his own up in defense. "Go on," he says, quieter this time.

"Anyway, I told him and he laughed. I thought it was 'cus he had a girlfriend, but he said I was a little too young for him."

"A little," Steve repeats. "Were ya heartbroken?"

"At first," she admits and twirls her ponytail around. "But he said it's okay, and that he's flattered and he said that even though we can't be boyfriend and girlfriend, I'm still his favorite dancer in the class. Even above the older girls."

He knew he liked that kid. "That's nice. So, who is this new guy? Is he _your_ age?"

Mischka smiles dryly at his humor and nods. "His name's Justin. He's in my class and goes to the same church as Uncle Clint and Aunt Laura."

"How cute. Does he like you back?"

Her shoulder hutch. "Not sure yet. He went to the dance show and told me he liked my dancing the best."

"That's sweet of him," Steve nods and it dawns on him: _What happened last night...the talk he needed to have with her._ He straightens up and faces her fully, keeping his body covered. "Do you remember last night? Those boys that were bothering us?"

She nods.

"Did they scare you?"

"A little. I knew you, or Daddy, or Darcy wouldn't have let anything happen to me, though."

"You do know that's _not_ acceptable, right? For boys to talk to you like that? No matter how much you like them or how cute they are."

Mischka looks down and frowns, but she shakes her head 'yes' in understanding. "Why?"

Steve doesn't really know what to say except for the obvious which is that it's _wrong_ and _rude_. "Because you don't deserve. Not from anybody."

"But-"

"No buts, Mischka," he interrupts sternly. "I mean it. And if someone ever does do something like what those boys did last night, you tell your Dad, or me, or Clint or someone you trust. I care and love for you like you're my own, you know that right? If _something _were to happen to you because you got mixed up with the wrong person, I'd be crushed. You realize that?"

She nods again and grabs Steve's hand to hold in her own. "Yes, Steve."

"And even though you like this Justin kid, please realize you don't need anyone in _that_ way right now or for a long time. Probably not till you're a teenager."

"_That_ way?"

"Like me and your Daddy," he explains vaguely. "And I say that because you're such a pretty girl whose really mature for her age. Boys get ideas. I don't wanna see you get hurt. Cus you know if someone hurt _you_, they hurt _me_. Then I have to hurt _them_."

"Daddy says that all the time," she says and scoots closer to Steve. "Do you really love me like your own?"

"Damn right. Y'know, Mischka, I _never_ had kids of my own. _You're_ the closest I've got to a daughter," he says and thinks on it. "A _human_ daughter," he adds on for clarification.

She seems grateful to hear that by the way her whole body perks up and leans towards Steve. "I'm happy you said that. I wanted to tell you that I think of you more as a second daddy than an uncle like Clint. Is that okay? I thought I'd be in trouble if I said that."

This is obviously news to Steve. He hadn't expected it, but the second those words are out of her mouth, a grin is on Steve's face.

"Of course that's okay. Why would you be in trouble?"

Her tone is unsure. "Because I already have a dad. And I love you, too. It's okay to love you, right?"

Steve's not sure his answer would be the same if he were speaking to Bucky instead. "Yes, m'dear. It is."

"Hey," Bucky's voice interrupts them from threshold in which he leans on. He looks clean with a fresh shave and a shower, makeup long gone and hair back its usual length. "Um, Uncle Clint's here,' he announces to the young girl. She immediately dives into hug Steve and he returns the gesture lovingly with a peck on her head.

"Bye, Stevie! And thanks for the talk," she winks at him before turning to the door and disappearing behind her father and out the bedroom. He follows her out and Steve stays in his spot listening to their goodbyes and Clint's laugh before the apartment door shuts with a click. Not before long, Bucky's back to leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes as wide as saucers when he examines Steve's state of being as he sits there on his bed, pensively staring back at him.

It's a minute before either of them say anything.

"What?" Steve huffs, not caring if he loses this staring contest. Bucky grants him a sideways grin, bounces off the threshold and sits in front of his boyfriend.

"Thanks for, um, talking to her about that," he says and it catches the older man off guard.

"You heard us?"

Bucky nods and scoots closer towards Steve to give him the first of many kisses of the day. It's a closed mouth kiss to avoid inhaling Steve's morning breath. "Mhm."

"So, you know about Pietro?"

Bucky waves that off with his metal arm. "I've known about that. Silly how she'd try to hide it from me considering I notice just about everything that goes on with that girl. And plus, like father, like daughter. She's got good taste in the men she chooses to associate with." His eyelashes flutter up at Steve, making him blush and chortle.

"I didn't mean to make it seem like I was doing your job with the whole boy talk, though. It just bothered me that-"

"I understand," he says for lack of wanting to hear the rest of what he's going to say. "But, thank you again. You kinda paid it forward and explained that better than I could've. I'd probably end up getting angry. You're good with words, and it helps that you guys have laid down that foundation of trust since we're gonna be together for a really long time, I'm hoping. I didn't think she'd open up so much to you if we're being honest."

"Yeah?"

Bucky shrugs one shoulder and kisses him once more. "I plan to spend my Sunday afternoon getting in your pants before your new best friend gets home. So, get up and come eat so you have energy."

"Bossy," Steve exhales under his breath and climbs out of bed to get his day started. Bucky gives him a playful swat on the ass that hard enough to make Steve yelp, but not enough to hurt him.

With Bucky rushing him with pleas of how horny he is, Steve takes a quick ten minute shower and puts on some of Bucky's lounge clothes that are all a size too small besides the underwear. That seems to be the only thing they wear the same size in.

"Fucking pointless in you putting on clothes when they're just gonna come off," Bucky breathes heavily upon his skin as he sucks that sensitive spot on Steve's neck. "Oh, you taste good."

"Back up." Steve pushes him off lightly and continues his way to the kitchen to partake in the pancake breakfast Bucky'd fixed that morning. There's even a bowl of fruit tucked in the refrigerator just for him courtesy of Mischka.

"Didn't even think you owned fruit," he comments as he slurps down a pineapple. Bucky shrugs and leans against the counter.

"Sometimes people start to acquire different tastes for things when they start dating. Fruit is still disgusting, but if it'll add flavor to my nut, then I'll eat it all the live long day for you," Bucky tells him bitterly with a bored expression that makes Steve laugh. He hands out his bowl to Bucky, testing him, and it's like watching Hell freeze over when Bucky picks a strawberry with his index and thumb and plops the fruit in his mouth with a pained expression before chewing and swallowing.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day," Steve utters and eats another pineapple. "Proud of you, babe."

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky sing songs, opens the microwave and unwraps the pancakes set aside for Steve. "Get used to it. Fruit is the first step. Hanging 'round your healthy, ancient ass, I figure I wanna be around longer so I should make a few lifestyle changes."

"Oh? Like?"

He sets the unwrapped pancakes back into the the microwave to be heated and looks Steve down the whole time he does. The brunet's trying to find words and ends up twisting his lips and shrugging again.

"Not sure where to start," he says.

Steve tries to recall some questionable health habits Bucky has. "We could eat out less. Go to the gym and jog together. Oh, and quit smoking."

"For the record, I only smoke when I'm stressed. Little do you know I've cut down to one or two cigarettes a week since I met you way back in August."

"That's a start," Steve says proudly and offers the bowl to him again. This time he takes a piece of kiwi. "You gotta start drinking water, too. Soda and Gatorade ain't doing shit for you."

"Ugh, this is gonna suck," Bucky groans loudly and pops the pancakes out of the microwave before it beeps. "If I'm gonna die young, might as well die happy with a glazed donut in my hand."

Before sitting at the dining room table, Steve gets a fork and syrup for his pancakes. Bucky joins him with a hand under his chin, staring off into space and mumbling about how he really wants a slice of chocolate cake and a nap.

"You're lucky for your metabolism," Steve comments and waves his fork around with a piece of pancake at the end. "You'll be huge by the time you're forty. I guarantee it."

Surprisingly Bucky snickers. "Would you still fuck me if I were, like, three thousand pounds?"

Steve laughs now, too. "I don't think I'd let you get _that_ big."

"But if I did get bigger," Bucky rephrases. "You'd still want me?"

That's a real question, but it didn't need a real answer. The answer's pretty obvious actually. "I couldn't care less. As long as you'd be healthy, I'd fuck your fat ass from here to Neverland Ranch."

"That's reassuring 'cus if this healthy thing doesn't work out, the first thing I'm doing is getting myself a giant slushy with chips."

Steve presents the fork to Bucky and he chomps on the piece of pancake. "I'll make you a deal. Every month you go through with this new health kick I'll get you one item of junk food of your choosing. Every six months, I'll allow you to indulge."

"Oh, you'll _allow_ me?" Bucky challenges and picks a cut piece of pancake off of Steve's plate. "Last time I checked, _you _ain't the boss of me," he says between chews.

"Not what I recall from last night," Steve counters and doesn't even try to make himself sound sexy. His words alone have Bucky freezing in his seat, eyes shooting up to catch if Steve is try to arouse him, then going confused when Steve continues to eat his pancakes.

"Last night, huh?" He repeats and that devilish smirk of his appears right out of no where. "That was fun for you? Being in charge of me? Bossing me around?"

"If you're try'na get in my pants, Barnes, it ain't working," Steve teases innocently and offers him another piece of pancake. Bucky deliberately flicks his tongue onto the fork first before clamping down hard on the utensil with his lips pursed and sliding the pancake off.

"Pancakes aren't the sexiest food to try and tempt me with."

"What, should I chug a protein shake?"

"That sounds kinda hot."

"Or maybe deep throat a celery stick?"

Steve actually laughs at that, stuttering over his chewing when he actually pictures Bucky going teary eyed and submissive, sucking on a piece of celery. He has no choice but to give in with that, and he sets his half empty plate aside and rises from his seat, hand out for Bucky to take.

Giddy he's getting his way, Bucky grabs his Sir's hand and follows him to the kitchen.

"Bedroom's that way, sir," he points out with his thumb in the opposite direction towards his room.

"Yeah, but it seems the theme of today is food," he sighs, looking back at him. "'Sides we can change it up a little since we're alone."

It doesn't take long for Steve to find a can of whipped cream in Bucky's refrigerator. The helpless demeanor in Bucky's body causes him to squirm and press his ass as hard as he can against the edge of the counter, watching with joy as Steve shakes the can and sprays a bit into his mouth. He find himself getting harder and harder as the minutes pass and he mentally prepares himself for whatever the fuck his Stevie has in store with that can of whipped cream. He adjusts the crotch of his pants away from his erection to try and hide it from Steve because it's a little embarrassing to be this aroused and he hasn't even touched him yet.

Steve pretends not to notice and licks excess cream from around his mouth with a single lap of his tongue, practically boring holes into Bucky's soul the way he's staring him down like he's a meal. His prey.

He sprays another dose of whipped cream into his mouth and beckons Bucky over with a finger.

Like the good baby boy he is, he's within Steve's circle in milliseconds, awaiting further direction, heart about to beat right out of his chest because he'sq been craving this since last night when he saw Steve comforting Darcy. He never thought it'd actually make him sad, but it did.

"Your mouth goes where the whipped cream does," Steve instructs, voice deep, husky, authoritative yet steady like an trainer taming a wild animal. "You understand?"

Bucky's knows his frantic nodding won't suffice for an answer. He swallows dryly and nods anyway with a weak, "yes, sir" that pleases Steve enough to plant a kiss onto Bucky's forehead.

This, what they're doing, is reassurance. Giving Steve absolute control is his body's way of telling him that he needs this to feel complete. He needs Steve's touch and attention to make him whole; without it, he's aching. All he wants is to be Steve's baby boy. Just wants to make him proud of him. He can't explicitly explain why Steve is the final stitch in the tattered seam of his life, but he is. He just is.

"You ready to make you feel good?" Steve asks, tilting his head back and spraying whipped cream on his neck. Bucky barely gets a squeak out before nodding and lunging for Steve's neck.

Ugh, he _loves_ him. He's so in love with him.

It hurt his feelings to see him grab Darcy's ass, but fuck, he still loves him. He loves this motherfucker more than he can even express physically. His kisses are uncoordinated and without finesse against Steve's neck. All he can get himself to think about is pleasing Steve and making him proud. Like a mantra, Steve's name echoes in his head as he slurps and pecks in the hard muscle of Steve's flesh. If he pauses for long enough, he can feel the blood beneath the surface of his neck rushing to where Bucky's mouth is, forming an angry looking hickey.

"Baby boy," Steve interrupts him and pulls away with as much strength as he can because it feels really damn good. "Baby boy, can I have a kiss up here now?" He asks innocently and taps his lips twice.

Bucky obliges and unnecessarily gets on the tips of his toes to meet he and Steve's lips. When Steve doesn't respond to the kiss, his worried grey eyes shoot to look at him in confusion.

"I gave you instructions," he reminds him. "I told you your mouth only goes where the whipped cream does. Did I put whipped cream in my mouth that time?"

Feeling foolish, Bucky shakes his head and hangs his head. "No, sir."

This time, Steve puts another gulp of cream in his mouth and Bucky's lips are to his instantly with both arms around his neck to keep him from squirming or trying to break them apart.

He loves Steve _so_ _much_.

Without meaning to, Bucky pounces on Steve and has his legs wrapped around his waist, grinding his semi hard erection into Steve's while the other man walks them over to the counter. The whipped cream is set aside for the time being as both men strip out of their shirts and toss the garments to the kitchen floor without even thinking about it.

Their breathing is in sync as they rock back and forth against the counter with their cocks brushing against each other. Steve's lost his breath and his kisses have turned to tiny pants when Bucky uses those evil hips of his to maneuver himself about against Steve's cock. One of these days, Bucky's gonna wear him out and send him into cardiac arrest with how slick and energetic he becomes when they play around like this.

"_Fuck_," he bites out eagerly when Bucky's own cock slides against his just right. "Baby boy," he sighs, unsure where the fuck he's going with that sentence since his brain seems to short circuit the second Bucky's involved. All he knows is that this feels fucking good, and he just wants Bucky all to himself.

Without even realizing, he's escalated his pants to moans when Bucky's hand manages to roam its way passed the band of the sweatpants Steve's wearing and has wrapped around the stiff nine inches within his boxers.

"D-didn't give you permission to do _that_," Steve tries to sound mad, but ends up just sounded dazed and has no problem face fucking the sneaky smirk right off of Bucky's face.

"You seem to like it," he says back, forehead pressed to Steve's.

"You're asking to get punished."

"Good thing I like that."

"Some one oughta remind you who the hell is in charge."

"Surely, it ain't _you_ right now."

"Don't call me Shirley."

Without stopping his hand, Bucky bursts out laughing against Steve's cheek. Steve does too, but it's a short lived laugh before he goes back to falling to pieces under Bucky's hand. The pre come makes the movements slicker and easier, so Bucky picks up his pace and nips on Steve's earlobe.

"I didn't put whipped cream on my ear."

"Shut up and lemme make you come."

"With a hand job? Really? What are you, like, fifteen?"

Bucky whines and jerks Steve off harder, getting him to groan and give a tight lipped giggle.

"I'm a big boy, Bucky. If you wanna get _me_ off, ya gotta use _your mouth_," he mumbles and reaches for the whipped cream, but his smile and Bucky's disappear at the sudden vibration and annoying jingle coming from Bucky's pants pocket. Still stroking Steve, Bucky whips his phone out and his face drops when he reads the caller ID. Steve knows that face. _Dammit_.

He retracts his hand from Steve's dick to answer the call and hops off the counter when it's pressed to his ear. Whoever's on the other line doesn't deter Steve from digging his face deep in Bucky's neck and giving him a few hickies of his own, ignoring the voice over the phone as it rambles on and on.

"Um, yeah..." Bucky mumbles and doesn't try to fight Steve off. He's such a little shit that he's purposely making his kisses loud so that whoever's on the other line can hear him mark up Bucky's neck.

"No, that's fine...yup, cool...it's perfectly fine..." Bucky continues and nods with a cheeky grin with his eyes closed as Steve drags teeth over the flesh of his neck.

There's a few more exchanges in the conversation, and Bucky's got a reddening hickey on his clavicle by the time it reaches a close.

"Y'know it's gonna be a little extra for being so short notice, _sir_," he says out of no where and for a moment, Steve thinks he's referring to him before glancing up and seeing Bucky's still got his ear pressed on the phone.

A sharp shooting pain runs through his chest and he pulls away from Bucky like touching him burns. Bucky says his goodbye, hangs up, and casually tucks his phone away before kissing Steve's stone face.

"Sorry, babe. Duty calls. I'll be back later," he says reassuringly and is on his way for the front door before Steve, still in his spot frozen in the kitchen, catches his hand and draws him forward so they're face to face.

The blond stares at his boyfriend a moment, obviously pissed, while he just stares back with scrunched eyebrows and a tilt in his head.

"Yes?" Bucky finally says, not seeing what the delay is.

Steve swallows. "Sir?"

As cutely as he is oblivious, Bucky rolls his grey eyes. "Yes, _sir_?" He repeats playfully.

Steve shakes his head and waves his hands forward as though to wipe an imaginary board. "Did you really just call some other guy 'sir' right in front of me?"

Bucky's forgotten already but when he remembers, he just shakes his head and clicks his tongue. "Baby, that's _nothing_."

It never dawned on Steve till now that as okay as he is knowing about Bucky's job, he'd rather be in the dark about the details to prevent from getting angry and jealous. Yet again, being in the dark and not knowing what goes down between Bucky and his clients does drive him crazy to a certain extent.

He knows better than to believe Bucky and his set of clientele wouldn't explore that kind of relationship for the right price. He knows it literally means nothing but a few hundred dollars, but when Bucky's just nonchalantly put it in his face, it'd be impossible for someone as possessive as Steve to _not_ say something. If he didn't know any better, he'd think Bucky did it to challenge him - bring that animal out so he can give it to Bucky how he deserves to be reminded.

"Yeah, maybe it's nothing to _you_, but it's not to _me_. You think it's appropriate to call some other guy that when I'm standing _right_ _here_?" Steve asks incredulously. Push, push, fucking push. Put him in his place.

"I didn't think you'd get angry," Bucky says back, losing all charm and smiles when he eyes Steve like he's grown a second head. "It didn't mean anything. Relax, maybe?"

"How am I or anyone supposed to relax when I'm painfully aware that every time you leave for work, you're doing the same thing with someone else that you do with me?"

"_For money_," Bucky adds on, leaning against the kitchen sink, arms crossed, and blank faced. "You said you were okay with it. Did you lie? Are you not? I gave you an out when I told you and it didn't bother you then."

Steve shakes his head again and paces a little to relieve energy in his legs. "Yes, I'm okay with it," he lies and huffs.

"Steve, there's no reason for you to get jealous. I swear."

"Not jealous," he says shortly and practically sees red when he re-hears Bucky calling whoever was on the phone by his name. It makes his chest ache. Damn near cheapens whatever they've established by calling each other by their special names. He'd probably have to rip out whoever's vocal chords if they even dared called him 'baby boy.'

"You're a terrible liar," Bucky says bluntly and keeps his head cocked to the side as though he's trying to read Steve from different angles. "What I have with you is wavelengths apart from whatever the hell I do with these losers that have to pay to get some ass - if it's not clear how prostitution works," he reiterates and unfolds his arms to place them on his hips. "It's barely the same physically. You give it to me better than anyone has ever and ya know my body lime your own. None of them get me like you do emotionally or mentally. None of them are you. Not a single one of them are worth being called _my_ Sir, let alone 'sir' in general."

"Didn't stop you from calling him that just now."

Bucky scoffs and bites his lip nervously. "He's one of my best customers. Empties out half of his bank account for me to call him that and do much more. Your ungrateful ass gets it for free."

Steve can tell when Bucky's trying to be playful, but it doesn't work. He still sulks and his whole body seems to shakes like a earthquake at how disgusted he feels with knowing Bucky rides, touches, kisses, deep throats and begs these guys the same way he does him. Prickles form on his skin at the thought of sharing what's his for those who just so happen to have enough to buy it. Any john with five hundred dollars could have Bucky just how Steve does. That doesn't make him jealous - it _infuriates_ him.

Seeing as though Steve shared his piece and isn't gonna open up his mouth again, Bucky takes that as a dismissal and snidely smacks his teeth in Steve's direction when he exits the kitchen.

"Gotta lotta nerve to be jealous. Figuring we'd be even since you wanna fuck Darcy so badly," he says under his breath. He's not particularly slick in saying it quietly and that disrespect alone gets Steve hot on Bucky's tail with the loud shuffling of his legs and huffing of his breath in his wake.

"You wanna repeat _that_?" He shouts to the man's back and Bucky turns with his index pointed accusingly and eyes steady.

"You heard me," he gasses and keeps walking like Steve hadn't even spoken.

"You called him 'sir' because you wanna get back at me for _Darcy_?" Steve concludes and growls when he actually starts to laugh at him.

"I called him 'sir' because he pays me a thousand dollars to do so, you arrogant punk. You got no right for being mad at me for doing _my_ _job_, that you said you didn't have a problem with in case you forgot," he adds the last part with much humor, "when you spent all last night with your eyes practically _glued_ to Darcy's ass like I wasn't even there. I may not have read every book on body language and shit, but I have been fucking people for money since before you even thought of me, therefor I know sexual attraction when I see it. You'd be a goddamn liar if you told me it's _never_ crossed your mind."

Steve's silent because he knows Bucky's a thousand percent correct.

"I don't fuck any of those guys to spite you," he goes on, metal hand on the door knob. "I get it probably drives you fucking crazy knowing that someone other than you gets to put his hands all over me, but did it ever occur to you that the reason I need to know I'm yours so often is because of that? That every time I'm with someone else and they're telling me how much they like me or how beautiful I am, I need to be in your arms being reminded that I'm only something when it's you saying it?"

He'd never thought of it like that. He feels dumb, but it doesn't take away any anger he feels. Bucky makes a world of sense, but he hates to admit it. He's stubborn like that.

Bucky scoffs again when he doesn't respond. He swings the door open and before going through the threshold, he turns back to Steve and sneers.

"There ain't an amount of money in this world that any customer could offer that'll get me to want anyone else but _you_. A cute face and a big dick don't mean a fucking thing to me if it ain't yours, _sir_," he enunciates and shuts the door lightly with a click, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.

It's two flashbacks in one - he reviews what Bucky'd said to him just now and it's like hearing a recording of himself from last night when he was calming Bucky down from his crying. The second one feels a lot like two weeks ago when Bucky'd left right after a fight and he'd gotten that shattering phone call...

Steve has a seat at the dining room table.

He really hopes this won't be a reoccurring theme in their relationship.

* * *

Mischka's home by four and when she asks where Bucky is, he's definitely positive she doesn't know the truth about what Bucky does for a living, so he just tells her he'll be back soon as opposed to lying. He takes the time to get a semi healthy dinner of frozen pizza rolls and a salad - Buck really needs to go grocery shopping - started for her. As the pizza rolls cook, he takes Carter and Mischka on a quick walk around the block.

"How was Sunday school?" He asks, hands deep in his pockets as the almost full grown dog pounces along with Mischka handling her leash.

"Fun," she responds.

"Learn anything?"

"The teacher said that Jesus died on the cross for our sins and came back to life three days later. He said that's why we celebrate Easter. Is that true?" She questions curiously with squinted eyes as the wind blows in their faces.

Steve thinks for a second. As a man who regularly fucks another man in his ass on the daily, he figures Christianity and anything involving a church doesn't involve him. His mother had been a Christian who, like any other mom, would force Steve to attend church every Sunday. It wasn't till Steve got older and got his own ideals on religion that he questioned whatever's written in the Bible.

"Can't say. I'm not really the most qualified to answer since I wasn't there."

"Well, none of us were. How do we know it's true if we _weren't_ there?"

"Good point," he admits, agreeing with her logic. "Do you believe it?"

"No," she mutters silently like it's a secret, and keeps her eyes locked on the dog pulling her along. "Am I gonna go to h-e-double hockey stick?"

Steve chuckles at that. "No, sweetheart. That's the _last_ place you'll end up. I promise."

"Good! I wanna go to Heaven! Daddy says Mommy's there and that she's always watching us. He says she's probably got toys and stuff waiting for me."

"Sounds about right," Steve complies.

"Do you have anyone waiting for you in Heaven, Stevie?"

"My mom," he answers immediately as though heaven is the code word. "My dad. Grandparents, aunts, uncles. Plenty of people."

"That's nice. God probably gave you guys a huge house so you can all fit."

"Hopefully with a pad and pencil so I can draw."

"Yeah, that, too," she replies with a sigh and takes Steve's gloved hand in hers. "I hope my Mommy likes me."

"She does. She loved you."

"How do you know? She never met me."

"She did. You're too young to remember. And speaking of being too young, you're _not_ on your way to Heaven any time soon, alright? You're gonna be here on Earth, taking care of your Daddy for a very long time before you get up there."

Mischka twirls around and falls back into Steve's grip with the leash still in hand. "I know. I just wanna know what it's like. Is there a ballet studio in Heaven?"

"If you ask God nicely, I guess he could have special angel construction workers build you one."

The walk lasts another three or so minutes then they go back to Bucky's apartment. Mischka eats her salad first then pizza rolls and instead of practicing a routine like she usually would the Sunday night before school, she curls up beside Steve on the couch and joins him in watching a Civil War documentary.

"Stevie?" She says during a commercial.

"Yes?"

"Have you ever had a crush on anyone other than my dad?"

He shakes his head yes. "Of course."

"Was it another boy?"

"Mischka, I've had so many crushes before your dad. Some of them were bound to be dudes."

She sits up from his lap and folds her arms over her chest. "Who were you with before my dad?"

As much as he _didn't_ wanna have this conversation, he can't resist the curious glint in her eyes or how adorable she is. She's not ready for the full story, but he doesn't have to leave her completely clueless. Steve sighs and lifts one shoulder to shrug. "It was a woman. In fact, we were engaged."

"Engaged?"

"I asked her to marry me and she said 'yes,'" he explains and keeps his smile as neutral as possible. "But it ended up not happening."

"Why?"

Steve's never told anybody this, and no one knows about it except for the those who went through it with him. Mischka doesn't have to be one of those people.

"We just didn't think it'd be right. Weren't really in love the way we thought we were."

"Aw," she sympathizes with huge puppy dog eyes. "I'm sorry. Do you miss her?"

"Only sometimes. I don't really think about her as often as I used to since meeting your dad."

The white, straight, bright teeth of her ecstatic smile could blind him. "Really?"

"Yup."

"Aren't you guys happy _I_ set you up?" She boasts happily and lays back down in his lap when the documentary comes back on. Now he scoffs and barks out a generous laugh.

"Yeah, whatever you say," he says.

The documentary ends an hour later, and Mischka grows tired. Steve assists her in brushing her teeth and brushing out her hair. It's gotten longer - down her spine now - and it's perfect for braiding. Steve should looks up some tutorials on different hairstyles so she's not reduced to her usual bum and high ponytail.

By nine, she's in her pajamas, hair wrapped up, and in bed.

"Good night, Stevie," she says as he kisses her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Sleep well."

She shuffles around in bed for a moment before Steve shuts her bedroom door quietly and goes to clean the kitchen. He secretly wishes she were still awake so he'd have something to keep his mind off of what - or rather _who_ \- Bucky's doing.

He finishes the kitchen and tidies up the living room because that's what he does when he's nervous. A sci-fi documentary about aliens plays on the television for background noise as he stares up at the ceiling in deep though about what the hell he's gonna do.

What he feels for Bucky is _odd_. He likes him. He really likes him, and he cares for him deeply and more than most things that should matter but don't.

He might love him. Might? No, he probably does.

It's something he wouldn't admit right now because it's scary to let himself fall in love so quickly but with Bucky, it's easy. There's so much to fall in love with from how his smile could lighten an entire room, or his silly sense of humor and laugh that accompanies it. Steve's favorite thing is probably that beautiful singing voice of his. From the second he'd heard him play at the 107th, he's been slowly _yet_ surely falling deeper and deeper in love. It's _something_ about him. He can't explain it.

Why did he fall so hard so quickly? They've got plenty of time to do that, so why now? Why couldn't he fall for him later? _Why now?_

He's so confused.

God, he wants to hold Bucky right now. He needs his baby boy in his arms, making sure he's safe and taken care of.

Steve doesn't even realize he'd fallen asleep till he's awoken by just want he'd needed. The soft and pleading whimpers coming from his between his arms pry him awake, and he's suddenly looking down at a shivering, crying Bucky who's got a grip so tight around him, he could strangle him with one squeeze. It catches him off guard, but he moves slowly to not spook Bucky when he puts a hand to the side of his face, wipes tears away, and edges their faces closer. The room is almost completely black since Bucky must've turned the television off, but he can make out the silhouette and prominent features of his face in the dark. He doesn't miss his frown.

"Baby," he croaks and clears his throat from sleeping. Something's wrong. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"I'm s-s-so sorry," he utters in a voice that's barely his and tries to hide himself,but Steve keeps them connected as he searches for an answer in his pouted lips and droopy eyes.

"What'd he do?" Steve asks maddeningly and holds Bucky's face to his so he can't look anywhere else. "_What_ did he do to you?"

Bucky just shakes his head and does everything he can to avoid looking at Steve, even though he really wants to. "N-nothing. He didn't do a-anything. I just missed you."

It's so simple, but he can believe it to be true. He's using that baby voice and his body smells of some other man's cologne. It's not that familiar Calvin Klein. It's something thicker and heavier and it makes Steve wanna bathe it off of him. It might not be physically, but Bucky's obviously hurting with how he's leaning into Steve's hands and silently begging to be touched anywhere. He _needs_ this. God, he needs this, and he wants Steve's hands all over him, reminding him who he is.

"Are you sure?"

Bucky nods erratically and puts his entire bottom lips between his teeth. His eyebrows rise and sadden his eyes by a mile. "I'm sorry I was so mean to you," he whispers under his own breath and squeaks when Steve's baby blues meet his.

"No, baby, you were right. I was being an idiot. I can't be jealous. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings with Darcy, babe."

Bucky cowers a little and his lengthy fingers fidgets against Steve's thigh. "I'm sorry I left. I thought about what happened last time and," he pauses and cries some, shedding tears that Steve wish weren't coming down his face. "-and I was afraid I wouldn't see _my_ Stevie again," he sobs desperately and his whole face falls at how close they'd gotten to that possibility just two weeks ago. Steve encases him in his arms and lets him cry as hard as he needs while kissing his ear and petting his head.

"I'm here, love," he promises to him. "I'm here. You're safe. Your Stevie's right here. Gonna keep you safe, Bucky. Shh, it's okay, you don't have to cry."

Bucky shudders and pulls away to look at him closely. "Am I still your baby boy? _Please_..."

"You know you'll always be my baby boy."

That makes him cry even harder. "I'm _yours_."

"Yes, my baby. All mine."

Bucky glances off to the side and wipes his face only to shed more tears. His skin is so hot, and those eyes are so wide. It scares Steve that he's so shaken and he's actually apologizing for telling Steve off when he absolutely deserved it. It's like he's afraid of standing up for himself like it'll risk losing Steve if he does anything that's in disagreement with him. He must feel like he's walking on eggshells after being the quiet submissive in each abusive relationship after another where he learned to keep his mouth shut or risk getting hurt. He shouldn't feel like that with Steve. They're equal. He shouldn't be afraid of him or telling him what's real when something goes down.

It's happened two too many times of them fighting over Bucky's job. Being fair, Bucky did give him an out, but He didn't take it because he really loves this man and he can't walk away now. Especially not now. He needs him too much. It's scary, but he does.

Bucky's crying subsides an hour or so later down to hiccups. His breathing is labored and takes effort to keep even, but eventually, he's asleep. Steve carries him to the bedroom, strips him down and curls in beside him to keep him safe. He wakes up rumbling around and pleading for Steve to forgive him, but Steve hushes him and holds him tighter.

They fall asleep like that. Bucky wakes up kept protectively in Steve's arms, and before he starts his day, he brings himself in closer to his sleeping lover and presses a delicate kiss on his chin.

"I love you," he whispers just low enough for himself and Steve - if he were awake - to hear.


	13. 13

Even though it's a struggle, Bucky manages to stay true to his word and live a healthier lifestyle.

It's easier when it's a family effort.

Bucky got himself a gym membership and joins Steve on his jogs every morning with mild complaining and heavy temptations when he sees a hot dog cart or a 7- Eleven. Mischka does her part by emptying out the secret goody stashes Bucky keeps around the house and handing them over to Steve.

The first couple of times they'd gone to the gym together were a little uncomfortable for Bucky since he claimed he hadn't been in one since joining the military, and he wore a long sleeve shirt and gloves on both hands to avoid suspicion about his arm. It took a few tries, but they eventually get themselves a pattern going in which they jog - sometimes with Sam - around the park for forty-five minutes to an hour, visit a farmer's market to get ingredient for lunch and dinner, and _if_ Bucky's good, Steve'll pick out a junk food for his six month indulgence.

They'll come home and shower up with the rest of the day ahead of the three of them - if it's a weekend - which usually includes going to the 107th for band practice, writing music, seeing a movie appropriate for Mischka's age, shopping, or taking day trips to Prospect Park Zoo or Coney Island.

It's an easy routine to fall into. Steve's grateful for it, and Sam's the first to see the difference in his best friend when they have their usual lunch at the diner. He's smiling more, talking with more enthusiasm, listening better, submitting better sketches to work and his sex drive is up. Sam's happy to hear that last part, and he almost wants to say "I told you so," in reference to him finding someone to make him happy again, but he doesn't.

As much fun as he's having being with Bucky and somewhat out in the world again, he can't deny the lows he still goes through. On nights when Bucky's working and he can't be in bed with Steve, he feels lonely again. He knows Bucky's not gone forever, but the thought of what he does for a living dawns on him and hurts him more than he wants to allow it. Steve hasn't cried himself to sleep in years, but he's only done it _once_ in the month they've been officially together when the weight of falling in love with someone like Bucky came crashing down on him. He bawled like a newborn baby into his pillow.

As happy as he is, he's _devastated_.

He wants the man all to himself, but he _can't_ if someone else is willing to pay the price of his affection.

He knows it's not real. He knows his job doesn't mean a damn thing. He knows Bucky's devoted to him and him only.

It still hurts.

And when he thinks someone like Bucky, he means beautiful, charismatic, charming, adorable, hilarious, talented, strong-willed, dorky, sexy, and really fucking irresistible in more ways than sexual. Steve's heart had _no_ chance against him. From the moment they met, he's been helpless against any defenses he tried to use to avoid falling for Bucky. That little fucker didn't even intend to, but he made a hole in Steve's heart just big enough for him to get cozy and stay till Steve tells him to go. Bucky didn't even try to get under Steve's skins and become one with the blond - it just _happened_. Every part of Steve was locked up and guarded by a twenty foot, steel wall with security, and Bucky just waltzed right in like it's where he belongs.

He's been fucked since that day in August when that man stood in his doorway and asked him if he'd seen his daughter.

_That's_ probably why it hurts so bad.

In that moment when Steve realized this, he just cried and cried and cried till his whole face was bright red and his sinuses were blocked up. He couldn't breathe nor could he think when his head was pounding so hard with the unsettling thought of the man he loves blowing guys behind their wives' backs and calling them 'sir' for money. All he does is worry about Bucky, and knowing he's out there _without_ Steve does nothing to soothe his soul.

But, luckily, Bucky reduced his work load and upped his prices so he's home more often. He'd purposely cleared his schedule for November thirteenth - their one month anniversary. It seemed silly and something a teenager would do, but Bucky made it a big deal by taking him to dinner and buying him a designer watch with money he'd gotten a week earlier when he fucked around with some rich doctor in Manhattan. Steve felt bad for not getting him anything since he didn't know it'd be an occasion, but Bucky said all he needed was his Sir's happiness. Steve loved the gift, and he thanked him with a massage then thoroughly fucking him into the couch till it was a few feet farther from the television and even on the dining room table till it rocked on unsteady legs. Needless to say, the favor was returned, and Bucky couldn't walk the next day.

As much as Steve liked the watch, he _didn't_ wear it due to painfully knowing _how_ Bucky could afford it. Wearing it would seem to enforce Bucky's job as though he approved. He doesn't; he can't admit it to himself just yet, because he tries to see some good it in for Bucky's sake, but he can't. He _doesn't_ like it at fucking all.

With a month of solid dating behind them, Bucky feels as if they're ready to take a certain leap. He'd been mulling it over in his head, trying to figure out how to suggest it to Steve and eventually, the contemplative look on Bucky's face is too distracting for Steve to go on with his sketch.

"What is it?" He asks, not looking up from the comic strip he's drawing. Bucky's head snaps in his direction and away from the TV to Steve's end of the couch, changing expressions for the first time since the show'd started.

"What?"

"You're looking like you were just asked which came first between the chicken and the egg."

"You weren't even looking at me," he says, astounded and taps his toes to Steve's when he leans forward.

"My Bucky senses were tingling," he teases and only looks up for a moment at Bucky, but doesn't stop his hand. "What's got you so in thought?"

Bucky twists his lips around and bites the bottom one with his eyes towards the ceiling as though the answer is plastered on the rotating fan. "Ugh..." he starts and Steve stops his drawing to analyze him.

"Is it something bad?"

"Depends on your definition of _bad_," Bucky tries to joke by shooting finger guns at Steve and clicking his tongue. Steve's unfazed and blinks.

Bucky drops his hand back into his lap. "Well, I was thinking..."

"Did it hurt?"

He gives him the finger and ignores Steve's chuckles. "I was wondering what our plans for Thanksgiving were."

Steve looks up again and this time, he seems pretty invested. His own face twists in confusion as though he hadn't thought about it either. Truth be told, he hasn't. Every Thanksgiving is spent by himself with a bowl of cereal and Sam begging him to join his family in DC for the day. He always declined the nice gesture because it never felt right celebrating the day without Sarah. He's been alone for _so_ _long_ that he'd forgotten Thanksgiving is a holiday meant to be spent with _family_.

"Whatever you wanna do, I guess," he answers. Bucky didn't have much family left either, but Steve hardly minded putting a feast together for himself, Bucky, and Mischka.

Bucky nods in agreement and swallows. "You remember me telling you about my sister, right? Rebecca?"

"What about her?" Steve wonders and goes back to drawing. The show on the television takes a commercial break, but Bucky still looks off at it like it interests him.

"She called me the other day."

Those baby blues flick up to look at him in surprise. "_Really_?"

"Yeah," Bucky smiles and glances back at Steve before going back to the TV. "She and her boyfriend wanna come down to New York for a visit to spend the holiday with us."

"Aw, babe, that's _great_!" Steve cheers, truly elated at the news, and leans forward to kiss him quickly. "I'd love that. I've been wanting to meet her since you last mentioned her."

The shock that appears on Bucky's face manages to confuse Steve. He cocks an eyebrow and says, "What?"

"You actually wanna meet her?"

"Yeah?" He says it like it's a question in case Bucky's trying to trick him. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"It's just that I didn't think you'd care to."

"Of course I would. She's your _sister_."

"Yeah, but _are you sure_? Because she's been asking to meet you and-"

"Yes, I'm sure. Call her and tell her she's welcome to join us for the holiday," Steve says it like it's final and Bucky quits rambling with a shy smile.

Little do either of them know how significant this leap is to the other. Steve actually wants to meet Becca - she's the only other extension of Bucky besides Mischka. Who knows the kind of stories she has about him being a troublemaker that got him sent to military school in middle school or how he was shy till discovering his love music?

To be honest, Steve's excited. He suddenly wishes for Thanksgiving weekend to get here sooner so he can finally meet Rebecca and see how she and Bucky differentiate.

The men continue on with their night in peace, going back and forth teasing one another while they watched another rerun episode of _Breaking Bad_. Well rather, the TV was background noise to Steve as he finished a comic strip and Bucky watched as though he'd never seen the episode before. Some few days later, after coming back from the gym, Bucky calls Rebecca to confirm that she and her boyfriend would be spending Thanksgiving with him in New York. Bucky doesn't notices, but the smile on his face is so broad and genuine, it's hard to believe Steve didn't put it there.

* * *

It's not particularly unusual when Steve helps Bucky write a song or assist him in putting together a set with the other Commandos for a show at the 107th. Steve really enjoys going to see them practice because it's when Bucky's his most comfortable outside of the apartment. The bar's closed when they rehearse, so Bucky is able to show his arm since all the band mates and Steve know about it.

It's _also_ not unusual when Bucky goes off on creative tangents and start to write songs out of random melodies he hears when tuning his guitar, or throwing tantrums that include shouting at the other Commandos to quit fucking around when they purposely mess up to screw with him. It's entirely cute when either happens because Bucky calms down with pouting, strumming his guitar, and helping himself to the alcohol behind the bar without Gabe's permission.

Tonight's Friday setlist had a bit of Steve's influence. All his favorites were on there and listening to them play as he draws in his personal sketchbook puts him the happiest mood imaginable. Not only is he pumped about meeting Bucky's younger sister, he's pretty satisfied with everything else in his life like work, his health, and his platonic relationships. It's unbelievable realizing he's secluded himself so much from the outside world that he'd forgotten he even had relationships, whether platonic or romantic.

"_I'll always keep you with me...you'll be always on my mind..._" Steve sings under his breath to himself as Bucky sings it aloud over the speakers. This is his favorite song of theirs and it has been since he'd first heard it. He's happy he'd picked it to be on tonight's set.

In the next hour they're there, Bucky and the Commandos run through several more songs and practice a new one Dum Dum had been writing recently. Rehearsal usually lasts a good three hours and by six, Gabe reopens the bar to welcome in the night life. It's getting close to four which means Mischka's just getting out of ballet, and she's on her way home with Clint's wife, Laura, and his kids since that's how they've set the carpooling up.

The band is getting their instruments together for tonight's show and leaving when Bucky strides over to him and kisses his cheek. "How'd we sound?" He asks, worried as usual when it comes to Steve's opinion while flipping a guitar pick in the air with his metal fingers.

"Better than The Beatles," Steve says, earning him a punch on the shoulder. He laughs at Bucky's notorious pouting.

"Don't mess with me," he warns innocently.

"Keep making that face and it'll get stuck like that," Steve teases, shuts his notebook, and tucks it into his coat pocket. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," he says, pats his pockets, and hisses. "Oh, I gotta get something from Gabe's office."

"Okay," Steve pats his bottom as Bucky crosses the bar and ducks into the back room behind a curtain. The bar is silent except for the steady ticking of the novelty clock hung above the stage, making it very easy for Steve to get lost in his own thoughts and stare idly out the window, people watching and humming the tune stuck in my head.

Bucky's gone about two minutes before the jingling of the bell above the entrance echoes in the empty bar. It doesn't distract Steve from the window until a crisp British accent calls out.

"I suppose the Commandos have finished rehearsal?" the female voice asks casually and something in Steve clicks at how familiar that voice sounded.

"Um, yeah," he starts out and loses all his words when he turns his body to the bar to take in the ever living flawless sight that is, of all people, _Peggy_ _fucking Carter_.

Every five of his sense rush back to old times and seem to familiarize themselves just by being in her presence. It sends goosebumps along his arms and legs and damn near anywhere a goosebumps can reach.

She's wearing that bright, red lipstick that Steve remembers used to cover his face in the shape of pursed lips along with her hair in bouncy curls that he used to run his fingers through when she had a headache. She's just as statuesque and gorgeous as she was the day they met and the day they parted ways.

His jaws on the floor along with his stomach, at a loss for words, trying to figure out if what he's seeing is real. Of course, it is, but he's having a hard time believing it is since the woman herself is one right out of a movie. And now that she's here, in the flesh, before Steve, he feels his chest tighten and his brain shutting down.

She seems as surprised to see him, too, because that calm demeanor Steve remembers loving is tested and non existent through her own pair of wide, chocolate eyes that have many a time been able to stop Steve dead in his tracks because of how gorgeous they are. It's about a minute of staring between them till Peggy exhales slowly and gives him a contrite, small smile.

"Steve," she says easily and continues removing her coat, gloves, and scarf to hang on the rack while Steve is frozen in place. He clears his throat to say something but he can't. He tries, but he _literally can't_. If he opens his mouth, nothing but air will come out.

"I guess it's been a while. Never expected to see you in my bar, of all places. You never were much of a drinker," she friendlily continues, rounding the corner of the bar and into the main sitting area where Steve leans against a table to support. Steve wants to flee with each step she gets closer to him, and he's not sure if he'll have the control over his body to not do something he'll regret.

When she's about a few feet away from him, he registers what she'd said. "_Your_ bar?" He finally says using a ghost of what he can find of his voice.

She smiles again. "Yes," she nods and gestures around. "My, ugh," she coughs and clears her throat, awkwardly looking to the ground at the next part of her statement, "_husband_ and I own this place. Um, as I had said before, I can't imagine why you'd be in a bar, let alone _mine_, after hours since you don't drink much."

Just as she says that, Bucky appears from behind the curtain with all he needs handy and a bright smile that gets even wider when he sees Peggy.

"Ah, Peg! Hey, doll, haven't seen _you_ in a while," he greets her and Steve just about ready to _pass out_ and _die_ of absolute horror when Bucky wraps both arms around her and they embrace in a hug that is too lighthearted and easy for him to be comfortable.

"Hello, darling," she says as nonchalantly as she can, kissing his cheek and rubbing his back. "How are you?"

Steve can practically see the headlines announcing that he died of actual embarrassment at his ex and his current lover being friends without him knowing. He sighs and stares them down intensely then blinks rapidly to assure that he's awake.

"I'm great," he answer honestly and points to Steve. "Peg, this is my _boyfriend_, Steve. Stevie, this is Gabe's _wife_, Peggy."

It's silent between the three of them.

Peggy's eyebrows lift at Bucky calling him 'Stevie,' while Steve swallows hard at the 'wife' part. Bucky side eyes him then Peggy, picking up on the tension, then waving a finger between them.

"You two-"

"Oh, we know each other," he interrupts ad says it as an after thought without meaning to. He chuckles nervously to get his voice back rather than the situation being funny.

Bucky's smile fades as he scrunches his brows together in a mixture of confusion and realization. "_How_?" he asks.

Peggy looks to the ground and answers. "We used to date a while back."

"Oh," Bucky squeaks at this news and tries very hard to not glare at Steve even though Steve knows he's fighting not to. "That's..._cute_."

It's another round of silence before Peggy backs away from the trio first and heads towards the back room. "So, James, I take it you guys are performing tonight?"

Bucky nods and puts on the best smile he can. Steve sees through those cracks and he's unsure if he should prepare an apology or not. He technically didn't do anything wrong, right? Somehow, he doesn't feel that to be true when there's a storm brewing on Bucky's face at adjusting to the news.

"Well, I'll see you all tonight," she says dismissively with a wave and disappears behind the curtains in a swift hurry. Steve would say he's relieved that's over, but that didn't mean it won't occur again.

Peggy _owns_ the place, and Bucky plays here damn near every weekend. To top the shit cake off, Bucky's _friends_ _with her_ and _her husband_ which is something he cannot control. If he had it his way, he'd _never_ come to the 107th again since the mere mention of that woman triggers him into a panic attack.

Steve just stares at him, trying to get a proper read on what's going through his head. Clearly, he's not happy about what just went down no matter how cordial it was. In all honesty, it could've went one or two ways, and Steve's semi grateful it wasn't what he thought it'd be. There's a bit of things Steve promised himself he'd do should he ever see Peggy Carter again, and literally nothing on that list was executed since his whole body locked down on him.

Bucky waits about two minutes till Peggy's out of earshot before side eyeing the living fuck out of Steve and crossing his arms over his chest like a child. At first, Steve thinks he might yell at him, but he just scoffs instead and leans against the table behind him. He looks passed Steve out the window and scoffs a second time with dazed eyes as though he were in deep thought.

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns in all the worlds, I walk into hers," Steve tries and succeeds when a failed attempt at hiding a smile grows on Bucky's face. It doesn't last long before Bucky just puts his hands up and shakes his head in disbelief.

"_You used to date her_?" He asks clearly but hushed in case someone comes by, pointing in the direction she'd left with a metal finger. He sounds more curious than mad, which should be a good sign. "Like y'all went to the movies and kissed and all that good junk?"

Steve nods and bites his tongue. Why does he feel like he's in trouble? He didn't do anything wrong, did he? Bucky seems relatively calm at the moment, so maybe he didn't? He's not too sure. Then again, he couldn't help running into her at the bar she happens to own, especially if a fraction of Bucky's income revolves around performing here. Now _isn't_ the best time to mention they actually used to be _engaged_, so Steve keeps it to himself to keep the peace. It's not necessarily dishonest, but it's not the full truth either.

"Um, _wow_," Bucky comments with expressive eyes and a tilted grin even though he looks the farthest thing from amused at hearing that his boyfriend used to date one of his best friends. "Ugh, I wish I could say I'm surprised, but I'm kinda not ."

Baby blues narrow at Bucky. "You're not?"

"Seems to make sense a Boy Scout like you would've been with someone like Peg. I'm a little embarrassed, actually," he responds with a shrug.

"Embarrassed?"

He rubs his flesh hand over his face and huffs. "When I first met you, all I ever did was pour my heart out to Peggy about this guy named Steve who lives across the hall from my new apartment, and go on and on about how nice you were, how hot you were, how much I like you - little did I know she _knew_ all too well how nice you are, how hot you are, and how much she liked you."

Bucky enunciates the past tense of the word heavily to assure that it stayed in the past tense. The territorial lint in his voice isn't missed even though he tries to play it off casually.

"That's nothing to be embarrassed about. She didn't even know you were talking about me. There's millions of Steve's in this city."

"Yeah, but it's still kind of embarrassing," he protests, and there's a beat and a half of silence before something clicks in Bucky and he covers his face with both hands. "Oh, _God_! I told her about _your dick_!"

Steve chokes on the air coming in and out of his lungs, and he feels like he might lapse into a asthma attack if he didn't find Bucky's dread so humorous. Steve blushes and goes for humility when he clicks his tongue and raises his hands in a don't really know what to tell ya way.

"Like, no, Steve, you don't understand," Bucky groans in agony and hisses to himself. "I went into detail about _how big it is_ and how sexy it is when you wear those grey sweatpants 'cus I can see the outline of it and how I love being on top 'cus it reminded me of riding a bull. Fuck, I'd've shut my mouth if I'd know she's already have experienced Cap and I'm telling her what she already knows."

"_Cap_?" Steve repeats.

Bucky uncovers his face and points to Steve's crotch. "That's what I named it."

Steve openly laughs this time. "You_ named my penis_?"

"Well, did she?"

"No, 'cus she's _not_ weird like you," Steve answers proudly and closes the space between them by wrapping his arms around Bucky's shoulders to pull him in. "But that's why_ I like you better._ That's why I'm with you."

Bucky's frown perks up a little and some of his inhibition melts away with any insecurity he had in finding out Steve used to be with Peggy. He can't lie and say he's not curious as to how their relationship was and how it differs from he and Steve's. That's because he's nosy, and it stuns him to hear that Steve actually dated anyone, let alone Peggy of all people, before him.

He responds to Steve's smile with a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Did you love her?"

He _needed_ to know...he _had_ to know... He knows he _shouldn't_ ask, but it'll keep him up at night if he doesn't. He's pretty sure he already knows Steve's answer, but hearing it will give him clarity. Steve just sighs and kisses his baby boy's lips back.

"That's nothing you need to worry about."

"You can tell me if you did. I don't gotta right to be mad, Stevie. 'M just curious," he explains and pulls from Steve's strong arms to look at him head on. He knows _too well_ that's Steve's too nice to tell him.

"_Don't_ worry about it," Steve says again, sterner this time and like a kitten, Bucky purrs at the tone of voice because he knows it all _too well._ It turns him on that Steve knows just when to turn that authoritative part of himself on to get Bucky to where he needs to be whether sexual or just comforting. Bucky obeys and lets the subject go for now.

It kind of kills him inside to think that Steve maybe did the same thing with Peggy at one point.

* * *

Mischka lives for the nights she's allowed to come to the bar and listen to her dad and uncles perform. She especially loves it when she's here with Steve because she'll talk his ear off till the cows come home, and he always listens intently, but tonight's a little different.

He's scanning the area of the bar like a hawk to see if Peggy were anywhere to be found so he can avoid her at all costs. It seems pretty ridiculous to seek her out just to stay away from her, but that's what seemed to be the only thing he can do. It made him anxious coming in here again, knowing she's lurking around within the same building as him.

_Her_ building, he might add.

As much as he loves Bucky, this is the _last_ place in all the planet where he wants to be.

But he sucks it up and lends his ears to Mischka when she goes on about how Justin passed her a cute note today during science. He's happy for her in all honesty, but there's a nagging feeling in the back of his mind egging him to keep his eyes moving till he finds her. He'd much rather be sure she's here and know how to avoid her than being so jumpy and frantic.

His breathing shallows when the lights turn off and Gabe - fucking shit, _now_ Steve knows _why_ he remembers him - announces The Howling Commandos on stage. Mischka applauds with everyone else while Steve cranes his neck to keep searching. He's having a tough time breathing as it is, now he can't fucking see.

Bucky does his usual monologue into the microphone and starts the set with "Home" since that's the first song Steve selected for their set tonight.

They perform some of their newer songs that Steve approved of and the crowd seems to be vibing with the new sound well enough. Steve doesn't really have the mind to notice since it keeps drifting back and forth to the thought of being hunted like an animal in the wild being in the same room as Peggy and Bucky. It's ridiculous to feel this panicked, he knows that, but it's something he can't help right now.

He's sweating through his palms, breathing harder, tuning in and out of the music, and his mind is scrambling too much for him to focus. Mischka's still talking and munching on a plate of French fries, leaning against Steve comfortingly and being a subtle reminder that everything's okay.

_She can't hurt you anymore. She can only make you feel inferior if you let her._

His head still hasn't completely wrapped around seeing Peggy again. It's been eight years of cleansing the woman out of his system, and of course, she pops back up like a fucking dandelion or an itch that can't be fucking scratch.

Just his luck.

It couldn't be a chance encounter. _No_. God's not _that_ gracious to Steve.

He made it so he had to see this woman _every_ _time_ he came to this godforsaken bar to see his boyfriend perform.

Steve sighs and grits his teeth.

He wishes he cared less that she's married the home wrecker that tore them apart and has a thriving business with the guy. That was _their_ dream. That was what they'd wanted; they'd _always_ talked about it whether it be a restaurant or whatever. It was always supposed to be her and _Steve_. Not _Gabe_.

Steve shakes his head and steals a fry from Mischka plate. He chews carefully so he doesn't choke over his harsh breathing and nods when appropriate whenever Mischka pauses.

The set is four songs in when Steve finally spots her behind the bar, taking orders and smiling brightly at customers. She's changed out of her clothes from earlier into a red, saucy, cocktail dress and platform heels made for classy women just her. Her hair's down in those curls, and _man, does she look beautiful._

He could try and hate her all he wants, but it doesn't stop her from being as gorgeous as she is. He'd _always_ think so.

Suddenly, he can breathe again. His hands dry a little and his mind comes to a stand still. It doesn't freeze like it did before, but it's at what he can assume is peace. It's a minor anxiety attack compared to the ones he's had before revolving this place.

With visual on her, he can relax.

_She can't hurt you anymore, dammit._

Three more songs play. There's only one more song to go which gives Steve time to finally enjoy himself before his eyes gravitate towards the bar and see that Peggy's gone.

"What the fuck," he mumbles frantically, and Mischka hits his shoulder with her tiny fist.

"That's a _bad_ word," she reprimands and takes a sip of her apple juice. He only ignores her slightly and does a sweep of the bar, meeting every face but the one he's looking for. He catches Bucky's eyes and puts on the best smile he can when he waves. Bucky keeps his hands on his guitar, but blows him a kiss. Steve pretends to catch it and tuck it in his jacket pocket.

He doesn't mean to, but he stuffs his face with more fries to avoid having a mental breakdown. It's doing nothing for his diet, but at least he's not crying.

After eating every fry on her plate, Mischka gives him a pointed glare with slanted, green eyes. He shrugs apologetically, but she smacks her lips and hands him the empty plate. Without it having to be said, Steve takes the plate from her and takes his sweet time drifting over to the bar for another serving.

Peggy behind the bar, pouring a beer. He stops and wonders if he can make a swift escape before she sees him, but Mischka would be a little less than hostile for returning to the table empty handed.

So, he keeps moving forward despite his feet feeling like they weigh a thousand tons and makes no eye contact when he sets the empty plate on the counter top. Her brown eyes flick up at the sound of the porcelain on the hardwood and then up towards the sheepish look on Steve's face. Peggy half smiles.

"I, ugh, ate all the little one's fries," he admits, pointing behind him at Mischka singing along in the booth. Peggy looks around Steve and a full smile spreads over her red lips.

"I'll put another batch in," she says and puts the plate under the counter top. She gets the attention of one of the other bartenders and instructs them to tell the cook to get another serving of fries started. Steve nods and mutters a "_thanks_," before exhaling and going back in the direction of the booth.

"Steve," she calls to him. He's facing her again within a second because that accent has always been kinda hard to resist.

"Yes?"

She pauses and gives him a once over. "How've you been? I meant to ask you that earlier."

"Been good," he responds shorty. No thanks to you, he wants to add.

"That's good," she nods and points a manicured finger toward the stage. "How long have you and James been dating?"

"We had our one month anniversary last week," he informs her. He thinks about that unused watch sitting on his dresser.

"Nice to hear. Still a bit caught off guard by that, but I'm happy for you two. You're undeniably cute together," she tells him politely with a open mouth smile that reeks of the truth. He can't hate her even if he tried.

"Guess you're not on his Instagram a lot," Steve says and snickers a little. "I'm on there a few times."

Peggy shakes her head and her curls bounce a little. That brings back memories. He wonders if she still uses that vanilla scented shampoo.

"Um, no, actually," she shrugs. "Gabe tried to get me into it, but I'm more of a Twitterer."

At the mention of his name, Steve tenses and swallows harshly. "I see. How is he?"

"Good."

It burns Steve's tongue to ask this next question. "And _your_ daughter?"

Peggy tenses this time now and glances to the side then to the stage to avoid meeting Steve's baby blues. "Mikayla's fine," she replies shortly. "Turning nine soon."

"Good to hear," Steve lies. He's not gonna give her the satisfaction of bruising him further, so he decides to go back to the booth, but before he can act on it, her soft hand is grabbing his.

"The Stork Club," she blurts out without context and squeezes Steve's hand. He doesn't even try to take it back. He's not sure he can.

"What of it?" He prompts her and she looks him in his eyes again to show she's not ducking around.

"Do you remember that time when you told me you wish you would've been able to go there back in the thirties?"

That conversation was eons ago, but it's still clear as day in his head. They were in her college dorm room. She was eating a salad with her hair tied up while wearing a pair of his sweatpants as he was sketching her a flower on the edge of an napkin.

"Yeah," he answers slowly, not able to predict where this is going. "_Um_..."

"Well, I'm not sure if you're aware or not, but you know your friend, Stark, reopened it last year with the help of-"

"Yeah, I know," he interrupts, hiding his excitement as best he could with an uncaring hutch of the shoulders. He remembers the grand opening and getting a personal invitation from Tony himself. However, he didn't go. He's pretty sure he had a panic attack and spent the night at Sam's.

"I was actually hoping if we could go there for dinner sometime soon," she proposes with a hopeful gleam in her eyes that matches the grin on her lips. "It'll be on me. I can make at least one of your wishes come true, I suppose. I owe you that."

That idea sounded absolutely terrible and wonderful all at the same time. He'd like to, but it's not entirely necessary. That's not gonna go over well with Bucky, so he just shakes his head and takes his hand back. He knows she doesn't owe him, but he deserve that of her. It's tempting.

"Sorry, Peggy. As nice as that sounds, I'll have to pass. 'M just so busy with helping him with Mischka and-"

"If you don't want to, that's fine. Don't lie to me. I can _always_ tell when you're lying," she smirks and hold his stare, knowing full well she's turning him into straight mush. Practically putty in her hands.

"'M not lying."

Peggy's no fool. She's never one to beg either. She just shrugs with a small, teasing smile and scribbles something down on a scrap piece of paper the hands it to Steve. "If you decide to change your mind," she says. He looks down at the paper. Her number's changed since the last time he called it.

His head tilts back up to look at her. She's taking a plate of fries from one of her employees and handing it to him.

"Thanks," he says and takes the plate of steaming fries.

She just nods and flips a curl out of her face. "It was nice seeing you, Steve."

Mischka's satisfied now that she has her fries, but Steve's head is still racing. An innocent, platonic dinner between he and Peggy seemed like an idea that's million of light years away, but honestly, this could be the finally nail in the coffin. This could be his opportunity to get closure and set his soul to sleep so that he doesn't have to jump every time he sees her or someone mentions her.

The reason he has trouble accepting anything or anybody for who they truly are is because of _her_. He doesn't trust fully because of _her_. One conversation over a glass of wine could solve all his problems and maybe, he could treat Bucky better. He thinks he's a pretty good boyfriend to him, but before Steve can put his whole heart into being the love of Bucky's life, he has to shut the door on the past. While he probably loves the fuck out of Bucky, Steve needed assurance that whatever he feels for Peggy is gone. One dinner is all it'll take for him to let everything he's been harboring for eight years out, so he can love Bucky how he wants and give up his soul.

Shutting one door so the other can open.

It still won't go down with Bucky the way he'll want it to, though. Bucky is a jealous brat to the core, and he will _not_ take his boyfriend going out with his ex - who just so happens to be one of his closest friends - lying down. He will pout, cry, and beg for him not to go. Steve can see it already.

He needs this, though. He really needs to_ let Peggy go_.

He'll mention it tonight.

Even though he's a _grown ass man_ who can do as he pleases, he's _still_ an _honest man_ who respects his boyfriend's feelings.

* * *

Steve doesn't say anything till a few nights later actually.

He tells himself he'd forgotten about it even though it's been the only thing on his mind since Peggy gave him his number.

It's _not_ cheating. He has to keep reminding himself of that when he plays out how the conversation between he and Bucky should hypothetically go down.

Bucky's _sensitive_, though.

He can explain why he needs this thing with Peggy any which way he can, but Bucky would _never_ understand.

Well, he'd _understand_, but he'd be damned if he allows it to _ever_ happen.

He had a peaceful way of going about it. After fixing Bucky dinner, they'd taken to the bedroom where Steve had prepared to fuck the life out of Bucky, but the man had such a busy week, that he'd passed out before Steve could even begin to touch him. It's sweet and overtly precious, so Steve drapes his jacket over his sleeping body so to not disturb him with getting him tucked in the comforter.

Steve watches TV in the living room, cuddled against Carter as his boyfriend sleeps in the bedroom. In between commercials, he'd look at his almost full grown dog and pet her lovingly on her head.

"I saw Peggy a few nights ago," he tells her. "That's who you're named after, by the way. I don't know if Bucky knows that."

The animals licks his palm multiple times and snuggles her skull against it. She understands.

"The bike's named after her, too. No one knows that but me, though," he admits and scratches behind her ear. "Pathetic, huh?"

He flips through channels till he finds himself right back at the History Channel where he usually is. He watches a documentary or two before drifting off to sleep. It's an in and out dream like state he's in for another few documentaries. The clock on the TV reads two in the morning. He should probably get himself together so he can get a decent amount of sleep.

Steve climbs groggily off the couch and lets Carter into the guest room with Mischka before cleaning up the kitchen from the meal earlier. He's halfway through putting the dishes in one of Stark's high tech dishwashers when he nearly jumps out of his skin at Bucky's voice breaking the silence of the apartment.

"What is _this_?" He asks sternly, standing at the kitchen entrance with his shirt off and a ripped piece of paper in his hand.

"Huh?" Steve says, clutching his chest in surprise at how sudden he appeared without making any warning noises.

"_This_," he holds up the slip of paper. "What is _this_? _Why_ do _you_ have _it_?" He sounds panicked, but his expression reads angry. Steve strides to him and takes the paper from him. It's Peggy's number with a heart next to it in red ink. It's not especially incriminating, but Steve knows Bucky. He knows how this might go down. _Fuck_.

"It's Peggy's num-" he begins, remaining even in his tone so not to upset Bucky, but the other man scoffs and cuts him off with a raised, metal hand.

"Yes, _clearly_. Why in the _fuck_ do _you_ have _it_?" He laughs bitterly with no amusement at all - that's the most dangerous kind of laugh.

Steve scrunches his eyebrows and narrows his glare at Bucky's tense stance, wild eyes, and disgusted curl in his lip. It's a mix of disbelief and sarcasm on his face now, and it doesn't sit right within Steve. He's about to do something erratic; something he'll regret. He's leaning on sounding accusatory already, and Steve hadn't even done anything..._yet_.

"Babe, don't try and play this with me, alright? It's _just_ a phone number."

"Yeah, _your ex's_ phone number," Bucky reminds him, referring to Peggy as though he didn't even know her before getting involved with Steve. He says it like he didn't know her primarily as one of his closest friends.

"Are you seriously getting jealous right now?"

"At this point, it's not even jealousy," he corrects Steve with an extended finger to his face. "I'm fucking tired of _this_."

"Tired of _what_?" He leans on the counter behind him with crossed arms as he analyzes Bucky. The man looks crazy and broken as though Steve had put hands on him.

"Tired of questioning _what the fuck_ you're doing with me. First, it's Darcy. Now Peggy. Shit, Steve, if you want to convert back to pussy, just say so."

He truly can't believe what the hell he's hearing. "Buck," he bite out as though he's calling to the sane Bucky inside to reappear and apologize out of this territorial Bucky who has fire in his eyes and his fist clenched like he wants to swing at something or even Steve.

Bucky crosses his arms as well and purses his lips through and indignant, unsatisfied "_Yes_?"

"Okay, well, first off, she's married. I, if this conversation goes smoothly, have a boyfriend. _You_. So, whatever idea you have of me and her getting back together, _please_ dismiss it," he starts off and has his hands in prayer position like he's begging. "Secondly, I've already told you that Darcy is _my friend_. My friend, babe. _That's all._ I don't make a fuss about you having friends."

"You don't see me grabbing my friends's asses, do you?" He snaps back. He's _still_ hung up on what happened on Halloween? "You didn't answer my question. Why the fuck do _you_ have _her_ number?"

Steve knows he didn't do a damn thing wrong, and that accusing undertone inference in Bucky's calm voice has him getting a little pissed himself, so he comes back with an even tighter voice and a finger of his own in Bucky's face. "Watch ya fucking tone. You're _not_ about to sit here and talk to me like I'm a little kid."

"Why do _you_ have her number, Steve?" Bucky repeats, swallowing hard and tightening his jaw.

That's the part of the conversation he doesn't wanna have just yet. Now is as good time as any, so he might as well. He can't, though. He won't give Bucky the satisfaction of an answer if he's gonna call himself coming at Steve like this.

"Am I not allowed to? She was my friend before she was yours, so what's the issue?"

Steve can physically see him getting frustrated. _Perfect_.

"The issue is that _you dated her_. You used to fuck her, Steve. You loved her. Did you not? Exes _don't_ stay friends, okay? It just doesn't happen. The only reason they would need to is so they can get a lay or two every once in a while."

"Like you and Brock," Steve points out, only realizing it was a low blow to the gut until Bucky's eyes widen then his lips snarl in disgust. "You still fuck _your_ ex. I'm pretty tolerant of that, and you wanna get mad at me for having mine's number? Are you really _that_ _much_ of a hypocrite?"

The grey in Bucky's eyes are stormy and dangerous. Steve knows he's stepping into a territory he can never be too cautious about, but he's pretty angry now.

"I'm gonna ask again_: why do you have it_? Lie to me if you want to, Steve. You _won't_ like it."

Steve shakes his head in stubborn refusal. He could just tell him and end this fight now, but he's too Steve Rogers to do that. "How 'bout you ask her yourself. She's your friend, too. It's pretty shitty of you to think she'd betray you and Gabe by trying getting back with me."

The consideration is on Bucky's face. He hadn't thought of that, and it shows how his face drops and his eyes glance to the floor in shame. The anger washes away with scrunched eyebrows and a quivering bottom lip and chin when he meekly whimpers, "_Please_, Steve. _Why do you have her number_?

"She gave it to me," he finally answers, taking pity and easing his tone back down to normal and relaxed.

"_Why_?"

Steve huffs out a slow breath to buy him time on how to word this. Incapable of lying even to spare his boyfriend's feelings, Steve just eases away from Bucky in case he does take a swing when he opens his mouth the simplest answer. "She asked me to go to dinner with her. As a friend."

The second he says that, Bucky's out of the kitchen and heading in a speedy chase against revealing any emotions. Because Steve's a sucker, he loves this guy so goddamn much, and it's much too late for his boyfriend to be so dramatic with leaving the apartment, Steve follows, groaning. Bucky doesn't look at Steve when he makes his way to the door without a word. Steve catches up in long strides in a second and has his hand around Bucky's before they can reach the doorknob.

"Babe," he whispers lightly just for their ears, but Bucky jerks his hand back and stands proudly away from Steve, awaiting him to say what he needs to. That bottom lip of Bucky's is still rapidly shaking, yet there'r no tears in his eyes to accompany it. Steve stands in front of him and cups his cheek, rotating his head with a strong hand so he's forced to look at him.

"Sweetheart," he starts off, but Bucky isn't hearing it. He rejects the contact by moving away and shooting him a look before reaching for he doorknob.

"Uh-uh," Steve refuses and gets in Bucky's path of travel in front of the door, blocking him with a broad chest and a scowl.

"We're _not_ doing this. I'm _thirty - two_ years old. You're _twenty - seven._ We're _too_ grown to be doing this stomping out and going to bed angry shit, alright? _You are my boyfriend,_ not a fuckin' child who demands attention by being chased around. I'm _not_ gonna beg you to communicate with me, Buck. _Especially_ if you're being a brat. You'd think that what happened the first time would've enlightened you to realize that _bad things_ happen when we don't work shit out. I'm _not_ gonna fucking do this shit with you anymore. Maybe that shit was cute with Brock or whoever else you were with _before_ me, but you're gonna quit acting like a punk ass bitch running away whenever you don't get your way, and we're gonna work this shit out like _adults_. Adults, Bucky. Because when I tell you I don't have time to baby you outside of taking care of you and fucking you, I mean it. I've wasted too much time to deal with this melodramatic bullshit of you acting like this. Act _your_ age. Not _hers_," he orders him gruffly, pointing to the guest room door. "This is the last and final time we're having _this_ argument. _Understand me_?"

Bucky's at a loss for words. He looks scared, shocked, and turned on all at the same time. The arousal on his face shows he's in disbelief and wonder that Steve actually said all that with a straight face with the infuriated authority of a true Sir without any breaks in his breath or stutters. He's using the tone that turns Bucky right into a crumpling, horny mess on the floor at his feet to put him right in his place and demand what he needs out the relationship which is exactly what they don't realize they've needed till now.

Bucky's mouth is parted open in the slightest and his pink, sneaky tongue is hiding in there, held by defiant teeth. He's not sure how to respond because he's not sure if he's afraid of Steve or wants to suck his dick as an apology for being so difficult and insecure in himself. He can't help how much he loves Steve and the thought of him wanting anyone else that way makes him crazy and jealous and break down.

"I said," Steve growls way in the back of his throat, inches forward to be right in Bucky's guilt stricken face to talk down to him. "_Do you understand_?"

His breath hitches. "Y-yes. Yes, I understand."

The blond points behind them towards the dining room. "Sit. _Now_."

"Y-yes," Bucky says again, unable to tear his eyes from Steve's as he carries himself to the nearest dining room chair and sits obediently just like Steve ordered.

For a few seconds, Bucky's unsure of what's Steve's going to do till he sits catty corner to him with a much less frustrated expression. He sighs and spreads his legs to rest his elbows on them and be closer to Bucky.

"Now, you know I wouldn't lie to you, right? You know I'd _never_ hurt you, right?" He asks carefully, watching Bucky closely.

He doesn't return the gaze. "Yes."

"Have I given you any reason to ever think I will?"

"No," he replies shortly.

"You confronting me like I'd done wrong against you isn't something I'm gonna stand for, in case you thought about making it a regular thing. Did you ever stop and think that maybe that'd hurt my feelings?"

"I was thinking about my own," Bucky admits, leaning his elbows on the table, still not looking at Steve.

"You insinuating isn't gonna do any of us good, okay? Do you trust me?"

"With my life," he says with great conviction. Steve believes him.

"Then why'd you pull that stunt? Why did you just rush in and assume having Peggy's number meant I was gonna do something to hurt you?"

Bucky shrugs and bites his bottom lip to stop it from vibrating in anticipation of tears. "I panicked. Knowing you two had been together already scared me, and that's all I could see when I found her number in your jacket. You being happier with _her_. Loving _her_ again."

"Buck, babe, I can assure you that there ain't a damn thing in this world that'll ever get me and Peggy Carter back together. She'll tell you." Steve laughs lowly at that bittersweet fact.

Bucky seems barely convinced. "Promise?"

"I swear, Buck."

He hesitates a moments and plays around with his lips with thought with flesh fingers. "Then why'd she ask you to dinner? What could she _possibly_ need to say now that she couldn't have said to you in the, what, eight years you were single? Why _now_?"

"Well, when we broke up, there was a lot of animosity. We left a lot of things unsaid." He remembers all too well. It's painful.

Bucky nods. "Yeah?" He sounds like he can't believe it.

"Whether she likes it or not, I'll be around. We have to see each other, and we can't let what happened with us influence the environment for you or Gabe. That wouldn't be fair."

"No, it wouldn't."

"And given what happened between us, I suppose it's only right that we say what we didn't say. Bury the hatchet. Leave nothing how it was."

"Closure," Bucky summarizes smartly.

"Essentially."

The silence that waves over them is haunting. Steve's afraid to say this, but he's nothing if not honest.

"I think the reason I need this is because there's still something in my heart that hasn't let her go," he admits. It's the first time these thoughts have surfaced anywhere outside Steve's mind. "I do care about her, Buck. I know it hurts to hear, but it hurts to say. I don't know what I'd do if I actually went my whole life keeping in everything I needed to say to her. This is my opportunity to finally not be so damn angry and scared anymore. An opportunity to, shit, I don't know, love properly. Be who I wanna be with you. Fully be me and not regret a damn thing because I'm not scared that you'll do me how she did. Do you get me?"

He winces and lulls over what Steve's told him over in his head for a full minute before finally coming near his boyfriend to place a soft kiss on his lips. It's desperate but chaste.

"Steve," he whispers and keeps their faces pressed close. "Steve, _please_..."

"Please, what, babe? Hmm? _Tell me_. Tell Stevie," he encourages and kisses him back with just as much gentleness.

The brunet takes a shaky breath and lets those tears that were gathering in his eyes finally fall. "Please just don't fall in love with her again. Okay? D-don't do that to me."

That's his consent. That's permission.

"I won't, baby," he says and takes his metal hand into both of his. "I won't. Now c'mon."

Steve leads Bucky to the bedroom. It's three o'clock by the time they finally get to a dead sleep and five by the time they're up again, pawing at each other and moaning each other's names into the blissful Brooklyn morning.

* * *

"Whaddyou think, babe?"

"I think you look _too_ good to be going to dinner with your ex."

"_Buuuuuck_," Steve drags out in warning, staring at him through the mirror with eyes that hold no heat, but serious nonetheless. "Be nice. She's your friend, too."

"Yeah, true," Bucky says and plops the edge of the bathtub with Carter at his feet. "But don't think her being my friend is gonna make me go easier on her if she tries to steal my man."

Steve chuckles and decides to leave a button or two undone on his white dress shirt. He adjusts his cuff links and nods at his reflection in approval. "It's not _that_ serious."

"You think I'm trying to be funny, but I assure you I'm not afraid to put on that Megara costume and go ham on her for trying something funny."

"She won't. And you know I won't, so quit your worrying. It's just dinner."

"Won't think she's not gonna try and give you dessert?"

Steve laughs again and smooths out his suit jacket. "Bucky, _please_."

"It's bad enough you named the damn dog after her. Just lemme vent, alright," he reasons playfully and pets the animal lovingly when she sits upward at her mention. "How come we've been dating a month now and you haven't named anything after me?"

Steve points a lazy finger at the toilet. "I did."

Bucky rolls his eyes and hits him on his shoulder when he comes up behind him. "Cute."

"I try."

"You think you're funny, huh?"

"I know I'm funny."

Bucky shakes his head and looks at the two of them standing parallel together like the skyscrapers in the mirror. "To answer your question, I think you look really sexy. Sophisticated and sexy. Sophisticated, sexy, and all _mine_."

The blond turns red. "Thanks, love."

"What time you gonna be home?"

"Before midnight," Steve answers and turns to face him. "What time does Becca's flight get in in the morning?"

"She said eight," he answers and exhales. "You sure you're okay with spending Thanksgiving with her and Wade?"

"You sure you're okay with _this_?" Steve asks in the same voice and inserts his tongue between Bucky's lips with little kiss evolves into something deeper when  
Bucky arches himself to accommodate the movement of Steve's mouth on his.

"Shit, yeah," Bucky answers between miniature kisses and deep breaths. "I'm _really_ okay with this. Keep doing this, and I'll never let you leave."

"Easy, baby boy," Steve says sharply and kisses him another handful of times with his hand cupped on his cheek. "When I get back, you'll have me all to yourself. We can do whatever you want."

His face lights up at that. "Whatever I want?"

"Mhm. Anything to your little spoiled heart's desire."

"Think you can eat me out while I watch _The Little Mermaid_?" He asks to be a little shit, but Steve licks along his jaw and up to suck on his earlobe with a slick, wet tongue, making Bucky's knees wobble and he grips Steve's torso for support.

"If you want," he whispers and sucks herder. "It's whatever you want, Buck."

"Shit," he mutters and has to push himself reluctantly away from Steve to catch his breath and not die from lack of blood to his brain because it's all going to his dick.

"C'mon, Steve. Go. Go so you can come back a-a-and get me off, alright?"

Steve smirks victoriously. "Yeah, okay."

Bucky has to physically bustle Steve out of his own apartment to be on time for dinner. Steve's got his boy so rowled up that he's ready to just say to hell to whatever he had planned with Peggy so he can spend the night making Bucky crazy. He has a few things and tricks he's been wanting to experiment with on Bucky that'll be fun for them both. He's got so many scenarios and fantasies in his head that end in his boyfriend begging, crying, and ready for more despite his body's protest for him to give it a break. It's _filthy_. Steve _doesn't_ care. He just had to get through this and he'll be able to be with his Bucky soon enough.

The redone Stark version of The Stork Club is just as lavish and flashy as Steve imagined it to be. It's pretty elite and ostentatious just like Tony, and it almost makes Steve laugh a little at his friend's interpretation of the joint. One thing he does appreciate about the reopening is that Tony is gracious enough to put all his friends, including Steve, on a cVIP list that allowed them to eat and drink for free.

Steve's at the bar at eight on the dot, just like he and Peggy agreed upon. He orders himself a neat whiskey to give him the buzz he'll probably need to get through this.

_Relax, Rogers. Get through this and you can see your boy._

Eight - fifteen rolls around, and Steve's about to call to assure they're still on when he sees her enter the club wearing a stylish trench coat over her revealing, form fitting navy blue, sheath mini dress and heels. Her hair's in a bun on her head, similar to how Mischka wears hers, to show off the huge pearls decorating her ears.

All in all, she looks damn good. Steve whistles to himself and throws back his drink. He makes his way over to her and politely greets her with a wave and almost dies when she opens her arms for a hug.

"You're late," he tells her.

"Nobody's perfect," she insists and takes him in. He gives her a big one with his face in her neck, taking in her scent. Her hair smells like vanilla. It's familiar to hold her like this but not safe.

"Shall we?" He suggests and gestures for their reserved table on the outer edges of the dance floor.

"Might as well," she agrees, and he escorts her to the table amid all the hustle of the business. People are dancing and laughing and drinking while the band is playing swing versions of contemporary songs. It's like a scene out of the forties.

It's something he's always imagined. He should bring Bucky here.

The first five minutes they're at the table, Steve awkwardly look over his menu, strategically placed right over his face so she doesn't see how shaken he is. Every other second, he glances above the menu to check on what she's doing and each time, she's reviewing the food options with a neutral look. The umpteenth time he looks, those brown, friendly eyes are staring straight into his soul, setting his heart rate to a mile a minute when they make eye contact.

"Haven't seen you like this since we went on our first date," she notes and chuckles a little, sipping the waiter had brought over moments ago. "Do you remember?"

"Yeah," he nods and finally sets his menu down. "We went to the Brooklyn Museum, right?"

She shakes her head in agreement. "We did. You were so nervous that you fell down the flight of stairs in the front of the building and your forehead was gushing blood, but you refused to get it patched up because you were afraid of ruining our time."

A genuine chuckle escapes him. "Sounds like me."

"I remember the only way to get you to a hospital was if I agreed to a second date. Quite an ultimatum, but it worked. Very smooth, Steve," she giggles and flashes her brightest smile at him.

"You know me. Mr. Smooth."

She runs her fingers over the menus nonsensically. "That's probably the dorkiest and sweetest anybody's ever done to get my attention," she tells him sincerely. "Risking death."

"Considering I'd been crushing on you for a solid year that involved desperate period of pining, I wasn't gonna let the chance I'd had with you slip 'cus I was a klutz," he remembers proudly.

"I think that's what I've always loved about you. You resilience. Your determination. If you want something, you go get it."

"Wasn't like that till meeting you."

She shakes her head. "You were. Most guys would've given up after that, but you didn't. That's what really made me fall in love, I guess," she confesses nonchalantly and shrugs like it was never a big deal. Steve swallows, but keep his tone light.

"Is wasn't my dashing looks?" He teases, and she covers her mouth to laugh loudly.

"Oh, trust me. Your physique played a part. But you know me. You could've had purple skin, a peg leg, and a bird's nest for hair and I still would've loved you."

"Nice to hear," he mutters and clears his throat. He has to change the subject before he gets too wrapped up. "So, I've been wanting to ask. How do you know Bucky?"

"Gabe knew him and the other guys in high school. Taken quite a liking to him, I have. You?"

"He's my boyfriend. Of course, I like him," he says like it's obvious, but she chuckles and sips her water.

"No, love, I mean how do you know him?"

"Oh," he hums and raises an eyebrow. "I thought he would've told you that already."

"He did. It's nice hearing the same story from different sides."

A short smile flashes on his face at the thought of his Bucky before it swells into a full on cheesed grin that's impossible to hide. "He moved in across the hall from me. Knocked on my door looking for his daughter, and pretty much since then, we've just been kinda joined at the hip."

"He told me it was like looking to a Greek sculpture when you first opened the door," she informs him and smiles as though to agree. "What was it like for you?"

Steve remembers it. "My initial thought was along the lines of_ 'oh, shit'_ 'cus clearly he looks like James Dean ate him up and spit him out. After talking and getting to know him a bit in the hour or so we were in my apartment, it dawned on me that he's about to be the best thing to ever happen to me. I'm not sure how I knew, but I don't know...guess it must've been his eyes. Something about him. I couldn't stay away even if I'd tried."

That's the most honesty way he could put it. And it turned out to be truer than ever.

Peggy silently nods. "I'm happy for you."

"I'm happy for me, too. Haven't felt this way in a while," he hesitates to say, embarrassed at what he's suggesting and confessing even though it's true.

"In a while _meaning_...?" She prompts and leans closer on the table to their conversation stays between them. His face is red and heated when he stares her dead in her brown eyes. He's not sure if he should say, but that's the reason they're here.

"Meaning since you. Haven't been happy since you."

Her face falls with grief and guilt. "It's been eight years, Steve-"

"Yeah, I know."

"Surely, you dated _someone_ in the time-"

Steve shakes his head and clears his throat from a wet cough he feels building up along with some built up years that hadn't threatened to be shed before now. Memories flash back which means he's a second away from just leaving and crashing the motorcycle in an attempt to rid her of his system again.

But he can't. This is why they're here. They're here to let it all out and let it all go. And if it involves tears, then so be it.

"All this time," she says gruffly. "All this time, you've been hurting. Hurting by yourself," she realizes and looks off to the ground at nothing in particular.

Steve just nods and covers his mouth with two fingers pressed against them. His eyes are still watering. She's becoming blurry even as she sits just across from him. Can he do this?

_Get it together, Rogers. She can't hurt you anymore._

"I _never_ meant to hurt you, Steve," she says after a window of exaggerated silence at the table.

"Then _why_ did you?" He bites back, feeling attacked for whatever reason. He feels so small and inadequate just as he did when they'd broken up.

Her sigh is relaxed and that angers him. He knows she means well, but the fact that this is so easy for her gets a bubble the size of the center of the Earth gurgling in Steve's stomach, making him sick. He wants to cry, scream, damn her to hell, and do the worse he can, but the rage within doesn't outdo the immense love and care he'll probably always feel for her despite how wrong she'd done him.

_It hurts._ It still fucking hurts.

"Steve, it doesn't matter what answer I give you. You'll hate me regardless. No matter how much I beg for forgiveness, I'll never fully get it. Is that true?"

He doesn't answer.

"Look," she says and places a soft hand over his across the table. "I called you to here tonight because seeing you the other day brought back memories. Happy ones as well as ones that'll be burned in my brain for the remainder of my life. I had to make it right."

"To ease your conscious? Help you sleep at night?" He quips. "Oh, _wait_. That's right, you have your _husband_ for that."

Her eyebrows spring up at that and quirk in a way that says _touché_.

"There's so much I still hadn't said to you," she continues. "Like how sorry I was for doing what I did and hurting you. But, please, don't be fooled. I _don't_ regret my actions."

That stings. He can't help but agree though.

"You don't?" He questions stupidly.

She shakes her head proudly. "But seeing you the other day made me realize how much I needed to get off my chest. I needed to tell you how much I still love and care for you. How you didn't deserve any of it. How I spent many of nights crying and unforgiving myself for what I'd put you through. It wasn't right."

"No, it wasn't."

"For eight years, Steve, I worried if you'd found your way to being happy again. Being yourself again."

"I'm getting there."

She seems convinced. Her smile grows in the most pitiful way. "I truly am sorry. It might not mean a hill of beans to you now, but it's weighed heavy on my soul not knowing if I could've said anything to make it right. Can I?"

"All I ever wanted was an explanation. A reason why you could do something so hurtful to someone who loved you so much," he demands. "You may not regret what you did, but you owe me that much."

Peggy knows he's right. "I never thought I'd say this, but we were _never_ meant to be together, Steve. Doesn't matter how much we loved each other. We were _never_ supposed to cross paths. We defied fate. Truth is, I couldn't tell you why I did what I did except that it was what was right for me, and that I cannot apologize enough for how badly I hurt you."

He knows it's coming from the most sincere part of her. He knows she's right.

He's afraid admitting that he wasted this much time.

He can't hate her, despite how much he wants to so badly. He _won't_.

He didn't come here to harbor hate.

He forgives her.

It's hurtful to agree with, but it's more than obvious they were never supposed to be together. It doesn't make sense now, but he agrees that's it's true. If the universe had wanted them to be married and happy forever till the end of time, she wouldn't have cheated and he wouldn't have met Bucky. If not for her, he would've never stayed in the apartment and met the love of his life. Steve's ultimately thankful. With Bucky, he can forgive her and let go of that pent up stress and anger that's kept him that apartment for the passed decade.

With a satisfied and relieved sigh, Steve blinks, let's the tears in his eyes fall, and wiped them before anyone else around them can notice not that they're paying attention.

"Is there anything I could do to make it better?" She asks, truly rueful, but still grinning.

Steve thinks for a moment and glances to the side at the dance floor. The band is playing something slow and the couples are swaying and rocking with one another in harmony to the beat. He smiles and holds his hand out.

"Dance with me," he demands and is already out of his seat. She seems a bit thrown off by the request, but she takes his hand anyway and lets herself be led to the floor.

With a swift spin, she's got her right hand over his left shoulder and her left hand in the palm of his right one. His other hand is pressed carefully and respectfully other waist, careful not to overstep his boundaries as they glide in unison on the dance floor the same way they had at their prom at seventeen. It's somewhat nostalgic. They're older and wiser now and even though they've got their separate ways, there's still an underlying love between them that could vary between romantic or platonic. She still sweeps him off his feet; he still makes her blush. So be it if they were to never be together - it's still nice that they were.

They're on the floor for a handful of songs before sitting back down and ordering steak dinners. Their conversation is more lighthearted than before covering topics from Peggy's daughter, how she and Gabe opened up the 107th, Mischka, Carter, his job and artwork, dates he and Bucky had been on, and even what the future holds. Peggy's already working on expanding the bar business to other cities in the state and maybe even a youth group center. Steve's fascinated by the idea and listens attentively with proud that she's working on making something of herself. He can't top her goals, but he does go in on telling her how much he wants to see a character he's created on the big screen one day. She's supportive and doesn't criticize even if the dream seems a bit far fetched.

Another two hours is spent laughing and entertaining each other's company until ten thirty rolls around, and Peggy suggests they dip since she's gotta be at work early the next morning. Steve agrees, pays for her meal despite her insisting she's got it, and they're out in the Manhattan night life, strolling to her car parked down the street. It feels like a normal date, them being together side by side and easy like this. It doesn't feel right even with all their drama out of the way. If it's _not_ Bucky, it's _not_ right.

"I still have to thank you for joining me again," she says once they reach her car parked down the street. She leans on her open car door. "It's still a bit shocking you even showed up."

"Had to. Couldn't live with pent up feelings anymore," he explains and leans on the hood of the car, staring off into the busy Manhattan streets with a smile he never thought he'd have on his face with Peggy involved. "Thank you."

She glances at him a moment before shutting her car door, striding over to him, and getting on her toes to press her lips to his cheek. He accepts it, getting completely flush by the contact and heats up every second they're in contact. When she pulls back, her expression is just as satisfied as his. "No. Thank _you_."

Feeling forgiving, he leans downward and kisses her forehead. It's an innocent and chaste gesture like an exchange between siblings or old friends.

Peggy shifts away from him and reopens her car door. "I'll see you, Steve."

"See ya," he says, waving and watching as she climbs into the driver's seat, starting the engine, and waving once more when she pulls off and rides into the traffic. He doesn't move till her car is completely out of sight.

There's a weight lifted from his shoulders and a free feeling in his stomach and steady beat in his heart as he strolls the crowded streets back to his motorcycle. In the midst of trying not to skip his way home, he pulls his phone out and smiles even harder at the text messages Bucky'd been sending him all night.

_**BB**: hey ik ur trying to like clear ur conscious and soul or whatever spiritual shit that comes along with seeing ur ex for dinner but come homeeeeee_

_**BB**: i miss u_

_**BB**: remember what I said about beating her ass if she tries to steal my man_

_**BB**: get you and ur long dick home pls_

_**BB**: while ur at it can u bring me home some food I don't feel like cooking now_

_**BB**: preferably something deep fried even tho I know I don't need it_

_**BB**: dating u has reduced me to watching documentaries about hitler_

_**BB**: it's actually really interesting_

_**BB**: i have the strangest boner rn_

Steve laughs aloud at his phone, hops on Peggy, and heads for the nearest takeout. He figures since Bucky's been such a good boy with keeping up with his diet, he deserves a special treat early.

He makes it home an hour before midnight and finds Mischka, Bucky, and Carter tangled as one on his large sofa with the light of the television illuminating their faces. The sight is so heartbreaking and disgustingly cute that he takes his phone out to snap a picture. That's a _perfect_ first Instagram post.

Steve sets the takeout bag on the coffee table and ruffles Carter awake with a pat to the head. She hops off the sofa to greet him with a few licks to the face. "You take care of my babies while I was gone, girl?" He says in his baby voice and kisses her wet snout. She pants happily and hands him her paw.

Steve is as gentle as possible when he scoops up the sleeping six year old and carries her bridal style to the guest room. "Daddy?" She mutters tiredly with half open, green eyes.

"No, baby girl, it's me. Stevie," he says, nudging the door open with the heel of his shoe and laying her onto the bed.

"Close enough," she figures and crawls to the head of the bed to set her head on the pillow. It's a queen sized bed, and it makes her look even tinier and precious. He puts a blanket from the linen closet over her resting body and kisses her crown.

After turning the light out and shutting the door, he goes back to the living room and squats in front of Bucky. His breathing is even and accompanied by staccato snoring. His mouth is hanging open, so Steve takes it upon himself to lean into him and place a peck to his lips.

"Mm," he moans and squirms around in his spot on the sofa. Steve kisses his unresponsive form another handful of times before the other man's half awake and catches his lips to Steve's.

"Baby?" He utters under his breath, eyes still closed. "Stevie, baby?"

"Wake up, love. Brought you some takeout."

"Got m' text," he slurs and licks along Steve's chin and kisses him another time. "You came home."

"Of course," he says and cups his face. Grey eyes appear in surprise at the contact. "Of course I did."

A lazy smile drags his face a little when he takes in Steve's silhouette with the TV light shining behind him. "Have fun? Everything's out in the open now?"

"Mhm."

"Good," he says over a yawn and stretches his body out with a scrunched face and shaking limbs. He makes a delighted moaning sound that ends with a squeak and a smile. Steve kisses him again and runs the tips of his fingers through the roots of his hair.

"Where'd y'all go?"

"The Stork Club. I was thinking 'bout taking you there sometime. You'd enjoy it."

Bucky nods, but the sudden uncertainty in his face is enough to make Steve's cheeky grin fade. He edges closer and narrows his eyes in examination.

"What's wrong?"

The brunet hesitates, making his voice small and reserved, lacking that usual confident flavor. "Did you _kiss_ her?"

His eyebrows rise. He's not gonna lie. "On the forehead."

"D-did you _touch_ her?" He asks next, voice shaking. "Like, did you -"

The sentence is stopped short with stuttering and a frustrated exhale. He wants to go on and ask bluntly ask if they'd slept together but even the innuendo is too hard to think about, so it chokes him up. That thought is a little too heavy for him to bare, but he knows Steve understands what he's trying to say.

"No, baby, I _didn't_ touch her," he tells him honestly and kisses him again. "Nothing happened."

Bucky believes himself. "Nothing? You didn't tell her you love her, did you?"

Steve shakes his head reassuringly and kisses him harder this time as though to steal the words and assumptions right out of his mouth. "No, honey. Did you think I would've?"

"No. The thought crossed my mind that you could..."

"Actually, I couldn't. Even if I wanted to."

"_Nothing_ happened?"

"_Nothing_ happened," Steve insists. "All we did was talk."

Their eyes meet again. "You came home."

"I'm always gonna come home. Especially if I'm gonna come home to you, babe. _Always_."

Bucky's skin heats up. He loves this sorry sucker so much he can't stand it. "_Always_."

Another kiss lands on his lips, and he savors it graciously for the few seconds it lasts. The greasy takeout smell drifts to his nose and his stomach grumbles. He feels like he hasn't eaten since starting this health thing with Steve. "Can we eat now?" He asks, pointing behind him at the paper bag. Steve stands to his feet to take the food out and spreads it along the glass table buffet style.

"What do you want? Kung pao chicken or shrimp fried rice?"

* * *

A little after before seven in the morning, Bucky awakes from Steve's arms and throws on a pair of jeans and one of Steve's Yankee's baseball jersey to pick Becca and Wade up from the airport. He tiredly kisses Steve's face before leaving and promises to return soon.

To make his best impression, he awakes and gets himself showered, shaved, and dressed in a red knit sweater and black jeans. He knows Thanksgiving dinner will be at Bucky's tomorrow night, but Steve tidies his apartment - as though it could get _any_ cleaner - because he cleans when he's nervous. Mischka's up a few minutes after he comes back from walking Carter around the block and they get her filled with cereal and fruit.

"Where's Daddy?" She asked, chomping on some Lucky Charms that Steve only bought for how often she's over here.

"He went to go pick up your aunt Becca and uncle Wade from the airport," he tells her and sips his coffee. Her eyes light up.

"I haven't seen aunt Becky in a while," she tells him with a full mouth. "I think you'll like her."

"Yeah? What's she like?"

"She's funny and always brings me gifts when she visits," she informs him cheerfully and takes in another spoonful.

"Have you met Wade?"

She sputters over her chewing. "He's even _funnier_."

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he flips it out to read the text message.

_**BB**: get your ass across the hall darling they're here_

Everything within Steve feels to empty out when he reads it over twice. He's sure he can do this, but it still makes him nervous. He's been wanting to meet her for the longest time and now he is. He wants to impress her and maybe get as much as a blessing he can from his boyfriend's younger sister. "They're here," he tells her and she rushes to finish the remaining cereal in the ceramic bowl. After washing the bowl, they walk hand in hand across the hall and knock on the door.

Steve takes a deep breath seconds before the door opens and reveals an elated Bucky. They step inside, and Mischka goes off like a bottle rocket with open arms to a young lady with Bucky's features in leggings and an over sized sweater beside a pretty handsome guy leaning on luggage.

"Becky! Wade!" She cheers and hugs him them both at the same time when they crouch down and return the gestures. "Oh, I missed you!"

"Oh, honey, we missed you, too!" The woman, Becca, squeezes her niece tight with a smile as wide as Texas and as bright as the sun.

"Look how big you're getting, man," Wade comments and ruffles the girl's hair with kisses to her forehead.

Without meaning to, Steve hides behind Bucky as though to avoid being seen when the two of them finish greeting their niece and stand to their regular height.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Bucky disregards his boyfriend's silly attempt at remaining inconspicuous and pushes him forward and interlocks their fingers. He squeezes in comfort. _I'm right here with ya,_ he seems to be saying. It's grounding, and Steve's able to look Becca and Wade in their eyes when Bucky points to his chest and then to them. He doesn't register entirely what Bucky's saying in his introduction, but all he can truly hope to focus on is how _goddamn attractive_ these people are. Wade is supermodel pretty with a stature an inch or two shorter than Steve, tan skin and perfectly gelled brown hair to match his eyes. The Barnes's seem to have a type.

Becca's shorter but has long legs, a thin frame, and pale yet clear skin. Her hair's russet and voluminous, standing in gorgeous contrast to her green eyes that resemble to Mischka's. Steve would believe she and Bucky were twins first before hearing she's seven years younger than him. They even have the same smile and confident demeanor. Her body language speaks more than her mouth ever could.

"Oh, it's so nice to finally meet the wonder boy that my dear _Bucket's_ been going on and on about," she says, poking his chest quickly then embracing his huge torso with tiny arms. He's caught off guard by the action, but he hugs her back anyway with a confused look on his face when he shakes Wade's hand.

"_Bucket_?" Steve repeats and a mischievous smirk is directed at Bucky now. His face falls a the embarrassing nickname he thought he'd never hear again.

"Yeah! He didn't tell you the story about being slopping the pig on Grandaddy Barnes's farm and -"

"_Mhmmm_," Bucky growls in the back of his throat and waves four stiff fingers across his neck to cut her off. "Let's _not_."

Steve laughs and squeezes Bucky's hand. It's kinda sweet how he's turning all red and avoiding to meet Steve's expecting gaze. Becca pokes her brother in his sides and wraps herself within his metal arm.

"Ah, don't get all embarrassed, bro. Its gonna take a little bit more than a shitty childhood nickname to have this one running," she winks at Steve, getting his insides warm with acceptance. The best part about that feeling is that what she's saying is true.

As he initially thought, Steve ends up really enjoying Becca's company.

She is as funny as Mischka had said when she, Steve, and Mischka visit the grocery store to pick up some last minute food items for dinner tomorrow. She's an open book that spills nearly all of Bucky's dirty laundry ranging upon embarrassing stories like the time he'd tried out for the lead in his high school's production of_ Peter Pan, _ended up getting a role as one of the Lost Boys, and vomiting on stage when it was his turn to sing or the time he tried his hand at slopping pigs at his grandparents's farm and pretty much ended up covered in pig feces, hence the nickname Bucky the Bucket.

While some stories are embarrassingly cute and all Steve's imagination can conjure up is a prepubescent Bucky with chubby cheeks and spiky hair, they're are some that only prove that some things don't change. They pile up on vegetables and dessert options as she recalls the time Bucky went through an Eminem phase and bleached his hair, wore biker boots with his uniform to gym class so he would be forced to sit out, cussing out teachers who didn't allow students to go to bathroom, and hiding out in the janitor's lounge and making friends with custodians so they'd have his back about skipping class. Steve can picture his boyfriend doing all of that with a bored smirk and grim eye roll.

She even goes into detail about Bucky getting sent away to military school in his last year of middle school for vandalizing his principal's car.

"Y'know, Bucket was still trying to get used to being himself, I suppose," she explains, reading the nutritional facts of a box of macaroni. "Some assholes were giving 'im a hard time because he was experimenting with his sexuality, and he had a bit of a temper. He's a sensitive kid."

_You're telling me_, he wants to say but just tosses bread rolls into the cart.

"He tried his best to ignore the criticism, and bullying, so he figure himself out from being in the dark. But it got pretty bad one day," she snorts and drops two boxes of the macaroni into the cart.

"What happened?" Steve asks, truly curious.

"Some of the guys that were bullying him ended up getting really aggressive about him being homosexual. The dumbasses jumped 'im one day when he was walking home from school. Absolutely beat his ass. Poor thing had to get twenty stitches on his head and a few on his stomach."

He can see the Bucky of today fighting back with no problem, but it must've been pretty rough back then. There's no use in getting upset about it now, since it's something Bucky probably doesn't even care about anymore. Regardless, Steve's protective and he doesn't like to imagine his baby boy as a literal baby boy getting his skull crushed to the pavement.

"Shit," he hisses, staring at his feet as they take a step at a time at no particular pace.

"Yeah, I know, huh? Bucky decided to take the cordial route and report the incident to the principal, but the piece of shit didn't do a damn thing about it. Bucket took it into his own hands and fucked her car up. That was my mom's last straw and off to military school he went. I was mad at her for it for so long since it wasn't his fault, but my mom was so in love with her new husband at the time, she didn't really think clearly."

Steve swallows hard. He wonders if she knows.

"He didn't come out till he came back for high school, and my mom _lost_ it. Starting throwing dishes and carryin' on about being betrayed and how he's gonna rot in hell. It lasted only a short time till Xavier, my stepdad, literally beat some sense into her. Wasn't necessarily ideal, but eventually, she got used to his sexuality and the pride he took in it," she tells him sweetly and nudge his side with her elbow to assure she still has his attention. "I guess he was scared to bring guys home even after coming out because he was pushing it already."

_Or maybe because your stepdad is a child molester. _"I guess."

She wraps an arm around his and rests her head to his bicep then squeezes. "Can't thank ya enough, Rogers. I haven't seen Bucket this happy in long time. Probably since she was born," she says, pointing to Mischka as she skips and weaves in and out of each aisle. "It was so hard when Nat died. I don't mean it to offend you, but he loved her so much, Steve. Never seen him so depressed."

"What got him out of it?"

"Well, they lived with Wade and I for a while until moving back in with Clint. Imagine a single family townhouse with Clint, his wife, his two kids, Bucket, and Mischka. It was a struggle, and I like to think it was his music that did it. When he moved back to Brookyln in August, that was probably the happiest I'd seen him ever since she died.

"And trust me. I know my Bucket. That big old smile on his face and that limp in his walk is all you, m'friend. You cannot even imagine how many times he's called me up in the middle of the night gushing about a song he's written you or how cute you are or somethin' like that," she tells him, poking his chest even more in a teasing way that makes him blush.

"Glad I could help."

"Ain't no wonder why I like you so much," she admits and leans in forward to him, pressing herself into the cart handle. "I do trust you. Sounds weird considering we just met, but I do. Y'take care of my brother better than any one else ever has."

"Well," Steve starts out, biting the inside of his cheek like it'll make his face less red. "I love him," he finally says aloud and proudly. "I do. Haven't told him that, but I do."

"Trust me. I could tell you do just by how you look at the kid. It's painfully obvious."

Maybe that was his goal the whole time. The painful part is more than correct but it's an addictive pain that only he'd endure for Bucky. "As most love is."

She pushes the cart forward and pretends to ignore Mischka putting in fruit snacks and potato chips into the already overflowing cart. "I drink to that. Wade and I have been hopelessly in love since I was in high school and the fucker still hasn't proposed," she grunts bitterly at that but there's a smile behind it. "You can keep a secret, right?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

She bites her bottom lip coyly. "I wasn't planning on saying anything yet, but Wade and I went to the doctor's a few weeks ago and you and Bucket are gonna be uncles."

Steve stops in his tracks and eyes her closely. "No way."

"Yes," she says.

His arms around her in an instant, holding her tightly as cautiously as he can so not to crush her flat belly.

"Oh, congratulations, Becca! I'm so happy for you," he says honestly and kisses her head. "That's amazing."

"Yeah, we're pretty excited. Ideally, I wanted to be married or at least engaged by the time this happened, but maybe this'll get him in the mood to propose, y'know?" She rubs her stomach and keeps pushing. "I'm hoping for a girl. He wants a boy, but we'll see."

"That's honestly amazing. When are you due?"

"Sometime next year, around summer," she answers and adds suggestively, "How 'bout you and Bucket?"

"What about us?"

That coy little smile turns into a frivolous half smirk. "You know what I mean. When's the wedding? When're you two planning on giving me another niece or nephew?"

As ideal as that is, it's lightyears away for he and Bucky. As much as he loves him, they're the furthest thing from ready from getting married or having a kid. They hadn't even gotten to that odd_ hey-let's-get-a- puppy-as -a-trial-run-for-human-kids-together_ phase. His eyebrows reach his hairline and his nervous chortle is shaken.

"Um, I don't know about _that_ just yet."

"Aw, c'mon. Bucky's always telling me how good you are with the little one and how it's hard to believe you don't have a little one of your own yet."

"I have a dog," he informs her, hoping it'll get her off his back. That's the last conversation that needs to be had. "That's my daughter for now."

"Hmm," she hums and puts two boxes of cake mix into the cart. "We'll see for how long."

They take Clint's car - Bucky's borrowing since the Barton's are out of town - back to the apartment where Becca and Steve get a quick lunch going. Wade and Bucky are playing the instruments and singing in the living room while Mischka colors a picture at the dining room table. Steve's washing off kale in the sink when Becca comes up behind him and whispers.

"Oh, and by the way... I really need you to keep the whole pregnancy thing on the down low. We're planning on telling him around Christmas or maybe when I'm showing more, y'know?"

"Yeah, I gotcha," he shakes his head in understanding. "You're secrets safe with me."

"Thanks," she beams gratefully up at him and takes the cutting board out of a drawer under the sink. "Oh, speaking of Christmas, what're your plans?"

"Whatever he wants to do, I suppose," he guesses. He hadn't thought about that either. Christmas had been just another day to him since Sarah died and Peggy left.

"Well, it's a Barnes family tradition that we head down to the Bahamas for the holiday and come back the second of January. We have this private beach house along the shore; it's beautiful. You'd love it."

"I'm taking this is as an invitation?"

"Bucket's been showing up by himself year after year, and it'd be nice for him to finally have someone to enjoy his time with. So, yeah, it is," she clarifies and begins to chop up some carrots. "Essentially, welcome to the family, Rogers."

Lunch is ready within forty minutes, and as the five of them eat at the dining room table, more stories are revealed about Bucky that subconsciously make Steve fall even more in love with him. The blond pretends not to be as intrigued as he is when Becca tells him the story about how he'd went to his senior prom in a dress to defy their mother or the time he pushed Becca down a flight of stairs when she ate the last ice cream sandwich. They're all fairly hilarious stories that Steve tucks away for later when he needs ammunition for teasing him. Bucky can't deny a damn thing since it's all embarrassingly true. He silently begs Becca to shut up with hard eyes and eventually kicks her under the table which led to a shouting match between who's the better sibling. Steve's concerned at first till Wade just pats him on the shoulder and tells him not to worry about it since _this is how the Barnes's kids show love. _

The argument is over as quickly as it started, and by night fall, they're all watching a movie in the living room. Becca passes out halfway through, and Wade bids everyone a goodnight before retiring them to Bucky's bedroom. Bucky didn't mind crashing on the pull out couch till they leave that weekend.

Steve's half asleep on the couch when Bucky shakes him awake and tells him he has to go to work. Steve's in much too good of a mood and tired to even try to start a fight about it so he kisses Bucky hard before he tucks Mischka into bed and heads off. Since he's up, Steve takes Carter on a walk and tells the animal about Wade and Becca and how much he likes them. She trots happily down the street, listening silently as she sniffs random patches of grass in the sidewalk.

He makes it back to his own apartment, strips down to his pajamas before climbing into his own bed with a head full of thoughts. It's one of those nights where Bucky's not with him, and he'd cry again, but he _doesn't_ want to. Through fighting it, he sighs into the dark emptiness of his bedroom and thinks about what Becca had asked him about marrying her brother and having kids. It's not gonna happen for a long time, but it's gonna happen _eventually_. He knows _that_ much. He knows he wants a life with Bucky. A married life with him would hopefully include a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and tire swing in the back with the mahogany patio deck, five kids, family vacations, and date nights every other day of the week - simple shit.

Married life with Bucky would hopefully _also_ include fucking the shit out of each other in the laundry room when the washing machine's on a spin cycle and the kid's dinosaur chicken nuggets are almost done in the oven because they're too horny to give a fuck. Having kids and being married shouldn't change the fact that they're _filthy_ motherfuckers who like to tease and torment each other in and out of the bedroom.

It makes Steve laugh a little. Until then, he supposes he can just keep to fucking Bucky in the privacy of their apartments.

Through an act of ESP, Steve's phone buzzes indicating a text from Bucky.

_**BB**: open your door that couch is killing me_

He's to his feet in seconds, opening up the door for Bucky who looks as tired as he feels. Without a word, he takes his hand and guides them to the bedroom where Bucky gets down to just his boxers and climbs into bed. Steve asks him how it went tonight since he hadn't really said anything more than a lethargic "hello," and looks less than happy with himself instead of answering. Rough night, Steve concludes and doesn't try to push it but he's a little freaked out when Bucky actually avoids touching Steve when he finally falls asleep after tireless tossing and turning.

However, the tossing and turning doesn't stop even an hour later when it's passed midnight. Steve's been drifting in an out of a disturbed sleep a handful of times, being awoken by the string of low pitched sobs and snivel coming involuntarily out of Bucky's mouth. The first time it happens, he ignores it, thinking he's just trying to get comfortable but each time it happens after that, the moans are louder and more pained. When Steve awakes fully, he sits up to watch him for a moment, listening to his sounds and matching them with how his whole form is shaking fearfully like he'd been scared.

The whimpers getting louder and more dragged out with his bottom lip caught between pressing teeth, turning it a furious red. Steve places a settling hand on his shoulder and shakes him.

"Buck, wake up. You're having a bad dream," he whispers against his ear. Bucky doesn't stir awake as fast as Steve would've liked. He instead he curls in on himself, dragging the sheets within contracting fingers as he whimpers louder.

"Baby," Steve calls, kissing his cheek. "Bucky, babe, _wake up._"

The sensitive brunet shivers at the sound of Steve's voice trying to call him out of whatever he's slipped into, and it's easy to see he's trying to get his eyes open to respond. In the state he's in, he's struggling to get himself together but he can't.

_Something's wrong._

It takes a bit out of him, but he gets his eyes open, staring at the wall before him with unresponsive eyes. Steve cups his face and turns his head to look at him.

"Babe, you were having a bad dream," Steve tells him as though he hadn't experienced it. "You okay?"

Bucky blinks and tries to pry himself away from Steve out of fear when it clicks to him where he is. "Steve," he whines, but Steve doesn't allow him to shy away. He looks disoriented and shaken. To be exact, he looks guilty like he'd done something wrong. It had to be more than a bad dream because Steve hadn't seen this face since the coming in the bed situation.

"Baby," he whispers to him, chin in Steve's palm. "What happened? You're _shaking_."

Those grey eyes of his are watering and darting around the room in a panic as though he's trying to get himself familiarized with his surroundings. The moans and sniffles haven't stopped, but he stops trying to get away from Steve when he comprehends he's just trying to comfort him.

Steve only recognizes this as something that usually happens after Bucky comes home from working. He gets sad, affectionate, and needy for Steve, begging to be held and on the verge of tears when it dawns on him that he was intimate with someone other than Steve. It scares him to do so, freaking Steve out like this, but this is where he feels safest after having another's hands all over him.

"What happened, baby?" Steve asks, knowing that something's wrong without even having to be told verbally. "Hmm? Tell me."

It takes coaxing for Bucky to open up after coming back from one of his clients. His head buries in the safe hiding spot he's made of the space between Steve's neck and shoulder. If makes him feel even more protected when Steve sets his chin over his forehead, so that's what the blond even if Bucky doesn't tell him to.

"I missed you," he cries into his neck and runs metal fingers across Steve's back. "I missed you, Stevie."

Steve believes him. "I missed you, too. Is that why're you're crying? 'Cus you missed me?"

"Yeah," he responds through a huff of tears that drizzle down his face and soaking the skin of Steve's neck. "Yes. _Yes_. Yes, I m-missed you."

"Is that all?" Steve asks carefully, knowing there's a little bit more depth to why he's being like this. He knows his baby boy way too well.

"Y-y-yes..."

"_Don't_ lie to me," Steve warns, gradually crossing that thin line from being his regular self to the one that man who can turn Bucky on and off like a switch. That man controls Bucky whether he can control it himself just by the tone in his voice. It's damn near magical how Bucky falls to pieces and becomes pliant within his protective arms. He trusts him so much more than he wants to. As always, it's scary - neither men care.

Bucky backs away from Steve to look up at him blurry-eyed and honest, innocence all over his face that dares to never fade. _His poor baby..._

"My client and I w-were trying different things," he admits to him shamefully as though he were confessing a secret. "H-h-h-he was really-"

"What'd he do?" Steve barks instantly, automatically protective and territorial at the mention of one of Bucky's clients making him like this. This'll always be his biggest fear ever since what happened last month, no matter how clean their backgrounds are. The sharing he can barely handle - as best he can - but, when these losers that Bucky sees don't even have the decency to treat him properly, it brings on a level above the worst hatred Steve can feel to just about everyone.

His insistent tone rattles Bucky's, and he uses his flesh hand to cover his face. "_Stevie_," he whines and cries even more. "W-we were trying things like spanking, and he w-w-was so _harsh_... so heavy handed...He kept going and going, but I _begged_ him to stop, and it hurt _so bad_...I said 'red' over and over, but he _didn't_ stop. Said he needed to teach m-m-me a lesson and he hit me over fif-fifty times with a l-l-leather belt...made me c-count..."

Steve's first instinct is to ask the fucker's address so he can go and teach _him_ a lesson. Enraged, he almost does, but seeing the state his boyfriend's in, he can't have room to be angry or at least show it. Knowing Bucky, he'd think Steve's mad at him and he'd never quit apologizing and crying no matter how much Steve promises it's not his fault.

So, Steve breathes shallowly and holds him tighter. Both of their skin is hot. "My baby," he coos and frowns at him. "My sweet baby. He hurt my baby?"

He nods and inches closer to Steve so that their foreheads are touching. "Still hurts. And we did other stuff, too..."

"What'd he do?"

"W-we were trying out _orgasm denial_, and he, um, he came on my face, b-but he..._shit_," he weeps and hides in Steve's neck again.

"He what, baby? Tell me what he did."

It takes Bucky a minute to calm down enough to articulate himself properly. "H-he didn't...ugh, didn't..." he stammers and leaves the sentence in the open for Steve to put two and two together. The light bulb goes off in his head, so he lifts the comforter draped over their bodies to glance down at Bucky's crotch. Just as he'd suspected, between his legs is his dick standing hard at attention through the frail fabric of his underwear. He lets the comforter drop over them before coddling him and whispering that he'll make it better even though he has no fucking idea how to go about it. He wants to relieve his boy of this - he knows it probably _fucking_ _hurts_ \- but he's got no clue how to without being selfish and getting hard himself. Guilt washes over him when his own dick twitches at the sight of Bucky looking all flushed and exasperated, pleading to be taken care of.

"Bucky," he gasps, taking his face into two hands so they have no choice but to meet eyes. Bucky keeps on crying and crying, ashamed that he'd brought this home for Steve to deal with and that he's incapable of touching himself due to fear of being punished.

"Buck, baby, I'm gonna take care of you, alright," he promises in a panic, kissing along his face. "Okay?"

He doesn't seem as excited about that as Steve would've hoped. "No..._no_...you _can't_ touch it..."

"Why?"

"He'll h-hurt me again...He'll _know_ I t-touched myself..."

Steve snorts at that and positions himself to be atop of Bucky, straddling as well as shielding him. "You're mine. _Not his."_

Buck moans at that.

"I'm gonna take care of you, alright, because it's my job to do so. You say you don't want me to, but I need to, don't I?"

"Yes, St-Steve."

"Who knows your body better, Buck? Me or him?"

"You, Steve. Only you."

He likes what he hears. "You trust me to make it stop hurting, right? I'm gonna do that. Understood?"

"Yes, Steve," he agrees with a sniffle and glances away when Steve hooks his fingers around the band of his briefs then tugs down. "I understand."

His poor erection pops out and lays stiff between them, red not just at the tip but all over, with clear coats of pre-come drizzling the head and underside like the tears streaming down Buck'y's face. There's not a vein left un-protruded around the width of it. It's so sensitive looking that it just might be able to come just from a slight breeze brushing it the right way.

It's overwhelming, and Steve's afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him. It's his greatest challenge to date, but the desperate expression of Bucky's red and glowing face gets him to suck it up and put a fist around the base of it. It's hot to the touch, and the contact of Steve's generous palm for his dick has him yelping and whining with a chorus of _thank you's_. The second Steve begins to stroke along the length of his cock, he feels his own erection swelling and growing in his sweatpants. He completely ignores it and goes slow against Bucky - that's what he can handle right now - while both of their mouths drop open to release pleasured and aroused moans.

"_Fuck_, _thank you..._" he whines gratefully and puckers his lips around Steve's thumb when Steve lets him suck on it. Eyes shut, he works Bucky off at an easy pace, moaning encouraging things into the night of his bedroom for Bucky to feed off of. It gets him even harder when Bucky sucks harder on his fingers with fragile, complicated groans and more thanks that barely reach Steve's ears. Every few seconds, the ministrations against Bucky's cock will quicken and send another batch of tears to his eyes, sending his head on a tailspin. His begging gets louder as each pump over his cock goes faster and faster.

He cries harder and harder, biting down on Steve's fingers for purchase. He probably tastes this man's blood, but he doesn't care right now. All he needs if for Steve to get him where he needs to be as quick as possible because he's out breath and crying all over himself like a blubbering baby unable to express his gratitude through words. He shrieks and digs his head farther into the pillow behind him when Steve's thumb twiddles along his slit. His gasping is erratic. His toes are turning in on themselves. He's losing it.

He also needs encouragement, so Steve already dirty talking the orgasm out of him.

"Yeah, baby, yeah," he grunts vehemently. "Feels good? Oh, sweetie, I _know_. I know it feels _so_ _good_. Feels so good with my strong hand over your dick like this? Oh, I know it hurts. I know you're scared, but baby, I've _got_ you. Need you come for me. Come for your Stevie. Come for your Sir. Come for Daddy."

The man below him whines and writhes around in response, making scared, vulnerable sounds with each slide along his dick. He's sounding like he desperately wants to say something back, but he's so filled with emotion and feeling that it's overwhelming him to the point of having no control over his own body. His lips part around Steve's finger to talk, but all that comes out is a whorish growl. Steve strokes harder and leans forward to kiss his jaw and whisper the rest of what he's meaning to say right into his ears, like it's meant for him only.

"You know I'm gonna always take care of you, huh? You're my whole fucking world...my _whole_ world..._shit_, babe... I know you're scared he'll hurt you, but I _won't_ let him. You're mine, mine, _mine_... come, okay? Come all over my hand, baby. _Come_. You need it. You need _this_. You need _me_. I need you. You're so close, aren't you? Oh, don't cry. Don't cry. Don't be scared. It's okay if you wanna lose control. All that matters is that you need to be taken care of. Come, come, _come_, baby boy. Be a good, little boy and come for your Sir."

"_Stevie_," Bucky sobs anxiously, on the brink of orgasm, boring holes into Steve's soul when his whole frame goes taut under Steve. "Steve, I-I _can't_..."

"Yes, you can. Come, baby boy. Come right the fuck _now_," he demands, his hand going full speed against Bucky's cock, practically milking it out of him.

"_Fuck_!" Bucky wails and both his hands fly to the sides of Steve's face to bring their faces together in a bruising kiss. "Fucking hell," he yells and looks nowhere but Steve's face when the fear of God flashes in his eyes.

"There we go, baby," Steve encourages, never stopping his hand, making the squirting and squishing sounds of flesh on wet flesh get louder. As the orgasm ebbs, Bucky absolutely lets go and releases unchallenged pressure against Steve lips and face.

"Shit, I love it! Oh, I _love_ it," he's chanting so tightly with a grit jaw and teeth that his words are becoming one. The unfocused concentration in his face shows he's enthralled and engrossed in Steve's every move. "_I love it.I love it.I love it._ Fuck, Steve_, I love you_. L-love you. Fucking love you so much. M-making me c-come so good... F-_fuck_..."

The second it's out his mouth, Steve kisses him so hard it hurts. Even though he knows Bucky didn't mean to say it, he's under such an influence of lust and love for him that he almost says it back. Moments later, Bucky's dick is spewing what feels like bucket loads of semen onto Steve's hand, his forearm, and along his lower stomach, making them both wet and sticky. The second the orgasm passes, Bucky's frantically trying to reach Steve's hard dick, stuttering over his words.

"H-have to g-get _you_ off n-now," he pleads with himself more than Steve and gets a nervous hand around his cock for a second before Steve pulls away and snatches his hand from his sweatpants. Still coming off his high, he misinterprets his action as rejection and cowers from Steve, still shaking like a Chihuahua even when he wraps his arms around him.

"No, baby," he protests. "It's okay. You _don't_ have to do that for me."

"B-but, Stevie..."

"No, love. Just go to sleep now, okay?"

Bucky stares unbelieving at him, hurt all over his face with sweat carded through his messy hair. "Yes, Steve..."

Steve presses a kiss on his forehead and lays him back down. He obliges and lets Steve go to the bathroom for a cloth to wipe him down. When he comes back, he sits atop of him and cleans him off, humming and massaging him down reverently so that he's not so tense. "I don't want you seeing him again," he says to Bucky after a minute or silence. "You're _not_ allowed to see him anymore. Do I make myself clear?"

He doesn't even put up a fight. "Crystal," he respond and wears down on his bottom lip.

"Did he at least give you aftercare before you left?" he asks, even though he's sure he knows the answer.

"No," he sniffles and waits patiently on the bed as Steve rolls off of him to retrieve a bag of ice from the kitchen and coconut oil from the medicine cabinet. "Roll over," he instructs when he comes back into the room. Bucky obeys, ass exposed with red and purple welts and bruises scanning from the tailbone to the back of his thighs. Steve keeps his anger to a minimum when he ices the skin down first, and spreads a healthy amount of oil on the discolored blotches.

Bucky drifts to sleep halfway through the treatment when he finally stops twitching.

After dumping the ice down the drain and putting the oil away, Steve climbs into bed beside him and holds him till he sees the dawn in his bedroom window. When Bucky awakes the next morning, he joins Steve in the bathroom, wraps his arms around his waist and rests his head in the crease between his shoulder blades while his boyfriend brushes his teeth.

"Morning," Steve mumbles and spits out the foaming paste. "Sleep alright?"

"Mhm," he hums and kisses his neck. "Thank you for last night."

"How's your ass?"

Bucky chuckles a bit even though it's not meant to be funny. "It's fine," he tells him and unwraps himself around Steve to lean on the counter. "You mad at me?"

Steve looks at him like it's a stupid question. "You know I'd do anything for you. Just as long as you're okay."

Bucky nods to show he understands. "Um, yeah," he hesitates.

"What is it?"

"I'd been meaning to ask you something."

"Anything," he promises and washes his mouth out with water. "What's up?"

"I'd always wanted to try it," he says vaguely, head dipped low and embarrassed like he's being bad. "Orgasm denial."

"Even after last night?"

"With you," he finishes shyly, awaiting an answer from a surprised, honored Steve. It catches him off guard.

"With me?"

"Yeah," he confirms confidently. "I trust you enough to that you wouldn't do nothing to hurt me. And I think it'd feel good."

Steve's a goddamn liar trying to convince himself that the thought of bringing Bucky to the brink without relief isn't a fantasy he's had running through his head since they'd started having sex. It's an intriguing leap to make, but he's a little ignorant about the act itself. He'd have to educate himself before he even thought about doing anything like that to Bucky.

"Is that what you want?" Steve asks to be sure.

"I feel like I _need_ it, truthfully," he replies and pulls on the hem of Steve's shirt with metal fingers. "From you. I'm comfortable with you, Steve. There's been something gnawing at me lately. It only feels right when I give _you_ control, babe."

"What's been bothering you?"

Bucky shrugs and sets his forehead in that slot of Steve's neck. It's his hiding spot. He loves it. "I'm not sure. It's slight. 'M not sure, yet. But whatever it is, you make it go away whenever we touch or kiss or whatever. I can't pinpoint it, but whatever it is you do, it works," he mutters into his skin and wraps him in a full hug.

Steve wonders if he'll mention the "I love you" from last night.

He returns the hug and kisses his temple. "You sure you're alright?"

Bucky's head rubs against Steve as he nods. "Do you swear you're not mad at me?"

"No, love," he promises. "I was never mad."

Bucky's arms don't ease their grip. "So, what do you say about the, um, what I suggested?" He sounds so hopeful that Steve wants to immediately say _yes_, but he stops himself.

"I'll think about it, 'kay, Buck?"

"Okay," he exhales and kisses his lips sweetly. "Happy Thanksgiving, by the way."

_Is it Thursday, already?_ "Happy Thanksgiving to you, too. Now get dressed so we can go help with dinner."

All throughout getting dressed, walking Carter, and going across the hall to start dinner with Becca and Wade, Bucky's lusty "I love you" whispers on and on in his head like a mantra. It's the second time he's confessed how he feels without knowing to Steve which makes him feel even more guilty. He wants to say it back so urgently. He wants it to be mutual and consensual when they reveal that special sentiment to each other.

He sports a struggling smile the whole time till dinnertime, and it only becomes genuine when Bucky's metal hand squeezes around his as they sit around the dining room table.


	14. 14

It's grounding and reassuring to be surrounded by family on Thanksgiving after such a long time of Steve spending it by himself. Granted, these people aren't _biologically_ related to him, and the only true family he has is his dog who is across the hall chowing down on a dinner of her own.

It almost feels like Steve's the guest visiting the Barnes family for holiday vacation rather than Wade and Becca joining in on what was already going to happen. It's not that he minds - Becca's exciting to be around and Wade is nice to look at. They're both exceptionally hilarious, and Steve's choked over his wine multiple time since starting dinner because of how hard they had him laughing.

But it's a comfortable feeling right now. He's sitting at one head of the dining room table while Bucky sits at the other, never hesitating to shoot him a loving glance. The fireplace is going, filing the apartment up with that woodsy holiday scent that's associated with joy, and a football game is going on as background noise. He feels warm and complete.

Tonight's menu included turkey, ham, chicken, green beans, cranberries, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes with gravy, dinner rolls, corn, and some odd marshmallow fluff pie that Wade made. A Barnes family tradition was that all attending members contribute one non Thanksgiving dish to the meal, and that's why Becca's putting gummy bears on her plate, Bucky's chomping down on a slice of pizza, and Mischka's sucking on a lollipop. These people are a circus, and Steve loves it.

Between a handful a gummy bears, Becca points to the piano across the room. "I see you kept the piano, Bucket. Play anything lately?"

"All the time," he answers with his mouth full, swallows, and deliberately sips Mischka's apple juice box to annoy her. "You up for a song or two after dinner?"

"_You_ sing?" Steve interjects their conversation, eyeing Becca closely.

"What Barnes _doesn't_ sing? Mom sang, Dad sang, Granddaddy Barnes sang. Bet Bucket didn't tell you he was a choir boy, huh?"

Steve swallows harshly over a spoonful of mashed potatoes. This is news to him, and it inappropriately gets him sinfully hot. If liking men doesn't send him straight to hell, it'll be the thought of Bucky teasing and taunting his poor priests with wondering looks and bitten lips. All he can imagine is Bucky in all his love for authority trying to get pastor after pastor in trouble with the Lord. It's even cruder because when Sarah used to drag Steve to church, all he could think about was getting his virginity taken by one of the older boys in the choir.

"No, he didn't," Steve replies, slicking a piece of the roasted chicken into his mouth carefully so Bucky sees his poking tongue. The other man fidgets and helps himself to gummy bears and defiantly eats the junk food, staring Steve down. "Fun to know, though."

"Uh-huh," Becca continues. "I even have video of him singing "This Little Light of Mine" at a Christmas pageant when he was, like, ten. I'll have to show it you one day. It's too adorable."

Wade snickers. "I've seen the video. Adorable _ain't_ the right word."

Bucky tosses a gummy bear at him. "Yeah, yeah, okay," he says, hands up in defense. "You've hit your limit of embarrassing me. I'm pretty I'm _not_ the only one at this table who's had a fair share of embarrassing shit happen to them."

"That's a bad word," Mischka grumbles behind her juice carton.

"Yeah, Bucket," Becca insists playfully, nudging her niece then putting a forkful of ham in her mouth and chewing slowly. "Watch your language!"

There's was a time where Steve hardly ever cussed unless he deemed it necessary. Dating Bucky has completely desensitized him to that type of language. _Free speech, motherfuckers._

"And while you do have a point about everyone having embarrassing moments, none are as embarrassing as _yours_," Becca points out, and Wade mumbles something under his breath.

"What was that?" Becca cups her ear to him, motioning for him to repeat what'd be said.

Wade bursts into a full blown fit of uncontrollable laugh. "Bucky being a choir boy isn't _half_ as embarrassing as when on our first date -"

"Oh, jeez," Becca groans and hides her face with a manicured hand. Steve and Bucky lean in, intrigued.

Wade's laughing prevents him from finishing his sentence and eventually he's got tears running down his face as he points and childishly torments Becca. Her mouth's in a hard line while Wade stumbles over the story. He starts over several times with a lack of oxygen before giving up and slapping his knees. "T-tell 'em," he barely gets out, clutching his chest now. Bucky, Steve and Mischka turn to Becca who is frowning over a spoonful of macaroni. "Babe, t-tell 'em!"

"_Well_?" Steve prompts and covers his mouth at how hysterical Wade is. Becca sighs and drops her fork in defeat.

"On our first date, Wade took me to a hibachi steak house and my hair extensions caught on fire when the chef turned the grill on," she says, unamused and it's only a second later do Bucky and Steve burst into a laughter similar to Wade's. Mischka doesn't find it that funny and neither does Becca. After a minute or two of hysterical laughter, Becca points accusingly at her boyfriend with a fork.

"Funny how Wade will neglect to mention he'd shit his pants after that _same_ dinner in a Wal-Mart portable potty!" She exclaims and Wade gasps.

"You swear you'd _never_ say anything!" He says back, turning red. Bucky's still laughing, clutching his chest while Steve prays he'll keep it together and not lose his mind with giggles and snort out his wine through his nose.

"All's fair in love and war," she snaps. Wade desperately looks around for ammunition with wide eyes and his sights land on Bucky who still hasn't stopped laughing.

"What're _you_ laughing at?" He barks at him and Bucky points.

"_You_, sir shit-a-lot!"

"Won't be laughing much when I remind you of the time you ate all your mother's birth control pills because you thought they were mints and blamed it on Becca?!" He bangs his fist on the table and whoops, "Boom goes the dynamite!" simultaneously as Becca goes wide eyed and hits Bucky in his shoulder and yells, _"THAT WAS YOU?!"_

"What's birth control?" Mischka utters to herself.

"It was an honest mistake!" Bucky swears, hands up in defeat. Becca's eyes are wild and fuming and she's probably really upset, but Steve can't see himself to stop laughing under his breath.

"What moron can't tell the difference between mints and birth control? I was in trouble with Winnie for, like, a week 'cus she thought_ I'd_ used them all!"

"I thought it was a hella sufficient dental plan that kept your breath smelling fresh every day of the week," he explains sheepishly, face turning red but still chuckling.

"Ugh, Bucket, of all the dumb things you could do, _that_ takes the cake. Almost worse than the time you duct taped your ass cheeks together so it made them look bigger and ended up ripping off a block of your ass hair," she quips and _that_ does it for Steve.

Wine goes spraying out of his mouth when he finally spits out his hidden laughter. He keels over and slaps his knees while his whole body convulses and vibrates at the image of a young Bucky experimenting and writhing in pain with a perfect chunk of his ass hair missing on a bathroom floor while a less than caring toddler Becca just watches with a pointed look. His guffaw is more boisterous than it's been in a while. It's a genuine laugh that has him sweating and panting with his jaw aching and his insides hurting, specifically his stomach.

The whole room is silent while Steve gets out the last few belts and situates himself to be presentable again. He cheers blissfully and wipes a dripping tear from his eyes while letting a few more chuckles escape.

"Okay, sorry," he apologizes to the table and does his best to not look at Bucky because he knows if he does, he'll just about _die_. The look on everybody's face is impatient, but he doesn't care. He sips more wine to make up for the drops he'd lost and picks up his fork to stab at his turkey. "Okay," he sing songs and chews. "Next topic."

Becca speaks first after a moment, seeming a little less pissed that the conversation had ended in her favor. "Most families go around the table and say what they're thankful for. It's cheesy, but let's do it."

Wade groans. "Why?"

"'Cus, motherfucker, it's _cute_," she snaps at him in the most sarcastically loving tone she can conjure. _Pregnancy hormones for sure._

Mischka rolls her eyes at her hypocrisy in using profanity.

Wade shuts his mouth and only opens it carefully to say, "Bucky, how 'bout you start?"

Steve's boyfriend finishes munching on a dinner roll before he twists his face up to show he's in deep thought. He exhales and Steve's sure nearly everyone is waiting for some smart ass answer.

"Well," he squeaks and wipes his mouth with a napkin. "I'm thankful for my family, obviously," he says sincerely, touching Becca's hand. "I'm thankful I've got my health and that Jesus sent me a man who carries a nine inch weapon with him at all times and is _not_ afraid to shoot it," he deadpans. Becca's eyes can't roll any harder while Steve's face heats up with a red fever expanding from his cheeks to below the collar of his shirt. Wade gives Steve a quick once over and he's pretty sure he's _ready_ to _die_. He didn't expect anything less than vulgar from Bucky.

"Mischka, what are you thankful for?"

The little girl has been done with this conversation since it started. She looks with great boredom at the adults at the table and sneers.

"I'm thankful for ballet," she says and pokes Wade. "_Your_ turn."

He thinks for a second, too. "Um, I suppose I'm thankful for my girlfriend-"

"_Suppose_?" Becca interrupts, shooting daggers at him. "Are you thankful or are you not? What is this '_suppose_' bullshit?"

"_Language_," Steve says, pretty sure he's going to lose it again.

"I'm thankful for my amazing, beautiful girlfriend who _doesn't_ nag me to do dishes or pester me about getting a cat," he says with pursed lips and a teasing tone while she rolls her eyes with a smirk. "I'm thankful that she's allowed me to stay with her so long that we can have festive Thanksgivings like this one. _Your_ turn."

She gets excited and claps her hands. "Yay! Ok, so, I'm thankful for my remaining biological family members," she says and pats her niece and Bucky on their shoulders with a huge grin. "I'm thankful for my husband -_whoops_, I mean _boyfriend_ who I've been with since I was fifteen who has yet to present me with a ring," she says as passive aggressively as she can, batting her lashes at Wade. "I'm also thankful for my job and the fact that my baby Bucket has found himself a nine inch weapon to protect him when nights are cold and he's there to fill him right up and make him warm!"

Steve almost loses it again, but decides the wine is too expensive to do _two _spit takes in _one _night. He's probably turning red again. Bucky sure is, but he hides his behind stuffing his face with more pizza.

"Steve, it's _your_ turn," she passes the figurative baton and gestures to him on the other end of the table.

He tries not to take up too much time to think about his answer. "I'm thankful for my life and my dog. I'm grateful I have a good paying job I love, but most of all," he says and looks right at his Bucky. "I'm thankful that I was blessed with my masterpiece of a boyfriend and his daughter. These two have changed my life so much, and I don't think I could ever thank them enough."

Bucky looks beyond turned on as well as impressed when he raises his wine glass. "I'll toast to that shit."

Mischka groans and eventually give up when she taps her juice box with four wine glasses.

The conversation gets less competitively hostile once desert is ready. Becca made an apple pie that she swears only tastes right with whipped cream and the five of them eat in harmony without any mention of embarrassing moments - since Bucky is clearing the reigning champ in that department. The tables cleared by eight, and they're all making good fun out of washing dishes, putting food into containers, and tidying up the dining room.

Wade and Steve are relaxing with watching the remainder of the football game when the sound of Bucky's acoustic guitar rings out in the apartment along with some piano playing. Steve turns his head to see what he and Becca are doing.

Bucky's leaning on the piano with the guitar in his hand, glove on. Becca's at the piano, playing around and looking to Bucky to find the beat they're searching for. It distracts Mischka enough from practicing her routine in the dining room, so she enters the living room to see what the noise is about. Wade mutes the TV and turns to face the siblings. Bucky's playing a string of notes at his own pace while Becca turns in with a harmony on the piano. Of course, _she_ plays piano, _too_. _These people might as well be The Jackson 5._

The intro is lengthy, but once Bucky's successfully falls into a recognizable song, Becca matches on piano. When she opens her mouth to sing, Steve's jaw is on the ground. He shouldn't be surprised at how angelic she sounds, but he is.

_"So...so you think you can tell...Heaven from Hell? Blue skies from pain...Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?"_

Wade and Steve get off the couch to join the Barnes's around the piano. Steve remembers this as Bucky's favorite song. He smiles when he too opens his mouth to sing.

_"Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? __Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?"_

The piano dies down to a simple melody while Bucky plays the according notes on the acoustic guitar with no effort. Mischka slides onto the piano bench next to her aunt and sways back and forth with her to the tempo of the song. Becca and Bucky combined their voices for the chorus, and it sends goosebumps against Steve's arms.

_"How I wish, how I wish you were here. __We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year...Running over the same old ground...What have we found? The same old fears...Wish you were here..."_

There's another minute of miscellaneous guitar notes after that, and one could assume it's over since there're no more lyrics, but the slightest shift in Becca's playing proves Steve wrong. In the most minute way possible, Becca switches from the fading outdo of "Wish You Were Here" to the slow intro to "Great Gig in the Sky."

God, Steve _loves_ this song.

As predicted, Becca's on vocals, testing her own voice box with the strain of reaching the same notes as the woman in the song. Bucky joins in, never stopping his hand on the guitar strings. As the notes get higher and more complicated, Bucky and Becca even their voices out and communicate with their eyes as if to ask the other _'do you want the big note?'_

Bucky shakes his head nervously and just when Becca takes the gulping breath to do the note octaves higher than what she's comfortable with, it's like the sky parts and God descends down to earth in an orange, clouded most of shimmering sparkles and glitter when Mischka pipes up and absolutely nails the note with no problem, using her tiny lungs to obtain the pitch and hold it.

Awestruck, Bucky and Becca abruptly stop playing to look at her as we as Wade and Steve who's ears having stopped ringing. A capella, she continues with the song, seeming unfazed by everyone's surprised faces. Jaw to the floor, Bucky picks up where he left off and scans everyone's reactions to assure they're seeing and hearing the same thing. Steve would start clapping, but he's stuck in place with how the sound of her echoing in his head, sending shivers up his spine. Where _that_ voice came from, he doesn't know.

When the song ends, Wade and Steve clap for the performance but Becca and Bucky are too distracted with congratulating and questioning Mischka on her little secret.

"Where did that voice come from?" Bucky asks her, setting his guitar back on its stand.

Mischka just shrugs and idly plays whatever piano keys is in front of her with a shy smile. "You," she answers sweetly and hides behind Becca's shoulder from his amazed stare.

"Sweetie, why didn't you tell anyone you could sing like that?" Steve asks now, truly curious.

"Because it's not really my thing," she answers simply. "I wanna dance."

"Yeah, but imagine how famous you'd be if you put that voice with your dancing," Wade chips in, astounded, but she doesn't seem too keen to the idea at the moment. Instead, she shrugs again and slides off the piano bench, leaving everyone speechless as she skips back into the dining room.

"She's so much like Natasha that it's scary," Becca comments and keeps playing random notes. Bucky shakes his head and sighs.

"Ain't _that_ the truth."

Everyone in the room seems to be in agreement with that besides Steve who has never met the woman. He tries not to let that bother him when Becca gives up on the piano, rushes to her room, and comes back with a thick, red photo album with an italicized B on the cover in gold lettering. Instantly excited, Steve gets himself comfortable on the couch with a beer and an embarrassed Bucky laying on his side.

"Oh, Becks c'mon," he pleads with her with his metal hand on his face. "Please, _not_ with the pictures. Where'd you even find those?"

With a shit-eating grin, she plops herself next to Bucky and opens the binder to the first page. "I was cleaning out some of Mom's old boxes of stuff from the attic and found it. I haven't looked through it yet, though. Was waiting till I got here to look through it and embarrass you."

"Great," Bucky huffs, unvaried and sinks deeper into Steve's side. "If Steve breaks up with me after this, I'll blame _you_."

The album is set up chronologically starting from the time Winnie and George got married, having Bucky in 1988, having Becca seven years later, and onward where they split up and new memories were made with Xavier.

Steve gawks in wonder at how many features Bucky'd gotten from Winnie. They had the same eyes and high cheekbones that were especially prominent in the first wedding photos of her in her off white spring gown. He had his dad's chin and height while Becca got his green eyes and russet waves. George Barnes was an extremely handsome man.

The wedding pictures are almost as cute as Bucky's baby pictures - the pouted lips and wide eyes started early on. There's one of him at 3 months old in a pair of corduroy overalls and a bucket hat laying on a blanket in the middle of a field that has Steve going "_aww_," and one of him at 6 months with snot surrounding his nose and a bored look on his face as a young Winnie wipes his nose with a tissue. Of the hundreds of baby pictures in here of Bucky having a bath, being fed, or sleeping in Winnie or George's arms, Steve thinks his absolute favorite one is the one of him at almost a year old, standing atop of what looks to be the same piano bench in the apartment, pressing tiny, chubby fingers against keys with a open mouthed, two teeth smile facing the flash of the camera. He looks so happy and lively because he doesn't have a care in the world; it's hard to believe it had taken much convincing for Winnie to get him to do an instrument for school.

The back of the photo reads "_February 1989... Jamesie's 1st note..._" in cursive penmanship. Steve will definitely have to ask for a copy to keep at his desk at work.

Elementary school was an easy time in the looks department for Bucky since the shameful woes of puberty hadn't kicked in yet. He's got his hair swept off to the side majority of the time, usually seen wearing a Cosby sweater and black Chuck Taylor's. There's a photo of him in swim trunks and an eighth month old Becca in the bathtub, washing her with a poofy, yellow duck loofah titled _"Rub a dub with Jamesie and Becca..."_ It's heart achingly adorable. Steve doesn't have any siblings, and it's time like this he wish he did.

As the pictures get newer and more recent, there's a shift in the room that's more sad than anything. It's when Bucky and Becca's getting older does Steve realize that this is where the real problems started. The second he sees a picture of Xavier, tall and menacing looking and squeezing Winnie's shoulder possessively, does Steve internally growl and squeeze his grip around Bucky when he inverts on himself and hides behind Steve on the couch. The only thing that Steve can think to ease the tension is make fun of a seventh grade Bucky with bleached blonde spiky hair, a scowl, a fake eyebrows piercing, and baggy velour track suit that hung off his shoulders.

"Will the real slim shady _please_ stand up?" Steve pokes his side and Bucky blushes, still hiding behind him.

"Okay, hey, wait a second," he starts and points to the ridiculous picture. "_The Marshall Mathers LP_ just came out, okay, and it was a pretty good album, alright?"

"No album is that great that you do _that_ to yourself, my dear," Steve continues to poke fun and flips more pages with no problem until a candid family photo of Winnie, Becca, Bucky, and Xavier sitting at the dinner table pops up. Steve sucks in an uneasy breath that Bucky doesn't miss and rubs his shoulders.

"Who took this?" He asks his sister.

"Ugh," she says and reads the back of the photo. "It says Uncle Erik took it, Xavier's brother. I don't remember taking this."

Becca slides the photo to Bucky who holds it close so he and Steve can see it. The blond side eyes his boyfriend to observe his reaction. His eyes are glaring hard in thoughtful examination at the photo like he's disappointed in what he sees. Steve looks just as hard and takes in Xavier's relaxed nature as he smiles at Winnie with what looks like all the love in the world - it's not till he zeroes in on Bucky that he sees why he's upset with himself. The adolescent brunet is making it plainly obvious how fond he is of Xavier as he stares at the man with the same doe eyes he uses on Steve and his lips flushed red from how deep his teeth are sunk into them.

He looks absolutely_ in love_ with him.

"What year is this?" Bucky wonders and turns the photo over again. It reads 2004, so Steve does the math in his head. Bucky had to be about fifteen or sixteen in this picture which is right around the time when he said he'd started his affair with Xavier.

Steve still wonders if Becca knows.

"You look cute here, Bucket," Becca says and passes him a different photo after sliding the one he was previously looking at back into its slot in the binder. Steve squeezes him to bring a smile to his face.

* * *

Wade and Becca take over Bucky's apartment while Mischka and Bucky stay in Steve's that night. She's out like a light the second the football game is over, so they tuck her in and retire to Steve's bedroom where Steve can tell Bucky's still a little taken aback by the photo. Steve's not certain how he should approach the conversation since one needs to be had. It upset Bucky more than he thought; most of the time, the man goes through no struggle mentioning Xavier like he didn't do what he did, but _something_ about that picture made him quiet and reserved, yet still touchy as he clings to Steve between the silk sheets of his king bed.

The warmth of Steve's palm is caressing and rubbing miniature circles on Bucky's flesh shoulder while the man nuzzles his nose close to Steve's neck, placing wishful pecks on whatever part of skin his lips can reach.

"You're tense," Bucky points out in a questioning tone, which usually leads to him thinking he's done something wrong. "What's the matter?"

There's no need to beat around the bush now. He inhales deeply and tells him exactly how he feels. "I _really_ hate your stepdad."

The bluntness of the statement gets Bucky to sit up to be leaning on his elbow in the mattress with his head resting in his hand. He looks down at Steve through the darkness of the room and creases his eyebrows together.

"I mean it. I've never met this man, but if I ever saw this motherfucker in the street, I'd probably stab him in the neck with a tree branch."

Bucky chuckles shortly with a brief huff in his chest. "My hero."

"I'm _not_ trying to be funny."

"Y'know it ain't entirely _his_ fault. I did keep going on with the relationship even after he gave me an out."

Steve doesn't have time to think about how untrue that is. "Don't defend him. It was never up to you. He's a predator. He would've pursued you even if you rejected him."

A beat of silence gives Bucky time to think at that over in moderation. "Aside from what he did to me, he was-"

"Buck, please _don't_," Steve stops him. "He took advantage of you. He hurt you. He hurt your mom. I don't care how decent a guy he was. I _hate_ him."

"_Don't_," Bucky instructs gingerly. "I don't. It is what it is, and hating him now ain't gonna change what he did when I was fifteen, sixteen. Just let it go."

"You must not know me very well. I'm the spokesperson for _not_ letting shit go. When it comes to _you_? _My boy_? No fucking chance of me letting go. Not when he hurt you."

"Yeah, he hurt me," Bucky seems to agree, but his head is shaking like he doesn't. "And just 'cus he didn't love me back doesn't mean I blame him for how I turned out. That doesn't change. You know that, right? The best way to relieve yourself of the hatred you feel for him is to do what he didn't. You have the chance to treat me right so transfer that hate into love."

"You sound like Sam."

"He's a smart guy."

"As much as I realize you're right," he mutters and laughs to himself, "it still doesn't stop me from wanting to sock him in his jaw." That'd give him all the satisfaction in the world.

Bucky's tiny grin is self deprecating like he knows Steve is right. "You must think I'm pretty stupid for loving him how I did."

"You couldn't help what you felt when he manipulated you."

"Still, though. I knew better, but I didn't lose sleep over it. I was a selfish kid."

"You were a _scared_ kid," Steve corrects him and sits up to have his back against the headboard. "Emphasis on the 'kid' part. You can't blame yourself for being used when the man took advantage of how young and impressionable you were as well as abusing you. He's the selfish one."

Bucky stares at him without blinking for a moment, awestruck, before sitting up next to him, cupping his face and invading his space for a quick kiss. Steve deliberately holds him close with his teeth caught in Bucky's lips, and only lets go when Bucky moans testily and climbs into his lap.

"I wish I knew you when I was fifteen," he mutters and kisses Steve chastely on his forehead to make the angry wrinkles disappear. "That way, _you_ could've taken my virginity instead. You would've been so gentle with me. You would've been so nice. You would've stayed and cuddled me and stopped my crying because yeah, I cried a lot that night. You would've stayed the night, too, huh?"

Steve nods at everything he says and loops his arms about the width of Bucky's torso to lay his head and keep him close and safe. "I was twenty when you were fifteen. I would've also waited till you were of age for me to do that stuff with you. I wouldn't be like him even if you did say you wanted it."

He scoffs. "You being five years older versus him being forty seems a little less drastic."

"Yeah, but I'm still older. It'd still be wrong," Steve reasons and kisses Bucky's stomach.

"You wouldn't have taken advantage of me," Bucky adds on and twinges at the tickle of his lips on such a tender part of his body.

"That's no way for anyone to lose their virginity, though."

At that, Bucky sits fully in Steve's lap and regards him for a second with a playful simper on his face that's quickly confused for a smirk. "How'd _you_ lose _your_ v-card, Steve?"

"I put my penis inside of someone," he says technically. Bucky pinches his cheek with two fingers and grunts.

"No, dickhead, like how'd it go? Who was it? How old were you?"

Steve before meeting Bucky would've blushed at the intrusion, but given that they eat each other's asses out for fun and look each other in the face the morning after, he can't think to be sheepish.

"Well, I was seventeen." He remembers the night perfectly. It was awkward and tasteless and felt really fucking good.

"Was it a dude or a chick?"

"A chick."

"Peggy?" He guesses. Steve shakes his head, and Bucky's eyes expand.

"_Not_ Peggy?"

"Nah, I didn't start dating Peggy till I was twenty."

"Hmm..." Bucky hums and runs flesh fingers through Steve's short, choppy hair. "Well, then tell me all about the lucky gal who got to deflower my precious Stevie."

Steve feels his face get hot at trying to recall that night. _Shit, it was fun._

"Sam took me to my first college party-"

"Ugh, Steve, I know I have no room to judge 'cus I fucked my pedophile stepdad, but please tell me you didn't fuck some random ass drunk bitch-"

"No," Steve puts a palm over his mouth and only removes it when Bucky runs his tongue over it. "Shut up. Lemme talk."

"Go on," Bucky encourages and slides off his lap to be lying his head across his thighs with the rest of his body sprawled on top of the comforter. Without having to be told, Steve immediately starts to play in his hair.

"Her name was Beth," Steve remembers, flashing himself and the ceiling a wide toothed grin. "She was nineteen, worked at this restaurant on campus, smoking hot -y'should've seen this girl. I met her at the party and we went on one date before I realized she only talked to me to because she'd had this theory that nice guys usually had big dicks."

"She ain't lyin'," Buck snickers and cuddles his face closer to Steve's dick through his pajama pants. "So?"

"Well, it was in her apartment off campus where we started watching a movie and next thing I knew, she's on top of me, naked, really sweaty, and screaming my name. Too bad she kept calling me 'David' but whatever."

Bucky laughs wholeheartedly. "Wow."

"I mean I lasted a total of probably three minutes before I bit the shit out of her tit because it'd felt so damn good to come inside of something so nice and warm that _wasn't_ my hand. She bled a little and slapped me upside my head before kicking me out." Steve laughs at that, fully remember the softness of Beth's breast inside his mouth being clamped down between his teeth and how she shrieked that she was coming even though Steve knew she was lying. The consideration for his feelings wasn't necessary, but he commends the girl for lying.

"I guess we both got unlucky," Bucky figures wistfully and sits up again to be facing him head on. "Well, that's what it seems like."

"I suppose," Steve agrees and edges forward to meet their lips softy. "At least we have each other now, eh? I'm thankful for that."

"There's a lot of stuff I didn't say I was thankful for at dinner," Bucky utters under his breath, sounding croaked. Steve's cock twitches in his pants.

"Like?"

Those long legs of his hook around Steve's waist to be straddling him. Steve's heart races at the sight of his gorgeous boyfriend sitting so royal and pretty in his lap. _Shit, he's so fine... So fine and all his..._

"Like I'm thankful for these _hands_," he whispers to Steve coolly, interlocking their fingers and squeezing when he grounds his ass hard on the growing dick under the layer of Steve's flimsy sweatpants. "Because they touch me so lovingly...so gentle... all the while being able to create masterpieces," he continues and pecks over his eyes with tender, lips, muttering against the skin of his forehead.

"I'm thankful for your _eyes_ because they're as blue as the ocean and just as deep. Like your _mind_," he goes on, quaking in Steve's arms when an intimate chill passes through the room. "You're so much more in depth and present than anybody I've ever met. You're so centered and grounding."

"Yeah?"

Bucky agrees with a short nod, letting his lips drag along the surface of Steve's face and descend to his reddening neck. He's got that thankful, grateful gaze that's always reserved for Steve. However, the shift from those doe eyes to the dangerous bedroom eyes is instantaneous the second his face is buried deep in the curve of Steve's neck, biting and sucking, practically hallmarking a hickey to remind himself who Steve belongs to.

Steve's own eyes flutter shut at the sensation of Bucky's tongue swirling and tracking traces of wet saliva along the sensitive nerves of his neck. Hickeys are pretty trashy and a teenager thing, but somehow he can't stop the assault his boyfriend's doing on him. It sends an army of shivers up his arms, right along with the sharp ache down his spine. _God, this is heaven..._

_"_I'm thankful for these_ arms_." A moan slips past Bucky's cherry red, wet lips as he running his metal hand along the length of Steve's shoulders and cupping his biceps, easing towards him to hold him tighter. "Keep me so safe..."

"Yeah..."

"And these _lips_." Bucky acknowledges them with easy appreciation when he presses his lips diligently against Steve's calmly and traps him with a sturdy hand on Steve's neck. The kiss deepens when Steve cocks his head to the left, finally lets Bucky's eager tongue in with no fight, and places his hands on Bucky where Bucky's are on him.

Their heads switch from left and right, never stopping the flow of massaging and enfolding lips against the other, filling the room with heavy breathing and animated panting. Bucky's initiated ever other kiss when Steve tries to break free for a moment to catch his breath in his mouth when his nose fails him. He's so caught up in kissing Bucky that he doesn't even pay attention to the swelling of his own cock, but instead stroking the erection Bucky's pressing into his stomach.

"What about my lips? Why're you so thankful?" He finally asks, genuinely curious as well as teasing because he has an idea of what Bucky's going to say. Their lips have finally parted for good and Bucky's slumped over and mewing over Steve's shoulder.

"Because they make me feel _good_. Every kiss, every time you say my name... Makes me feel like I'm floating... Like 'm _fucking blessed_...," he admits breathlessly, assisting Steve in his own erection by stroking him through his sweatpants. "Shit, Steve. I-I-I'm thankful for your _chest_."

"Chest?" Steve repeats, teasing the outline of Bucky's cock with two fingers while stuttering over the ministrations on his own.

"It's where your heart is," he says like it's obvious. It's downright the corniest thing Steve's ever heard, but Bucky says it so sincerely he can't laugh.

"_Ahh_," he babies his voice. "You're such a _sap_."

"You don't have room to talk about being a sap with your big, fat, stupid beating heart that cares for everyone else before itself, God, fuck you, man," he strains to get out when Steve's grip advances to skin and skin contact when he puts his hand down Bucky's pants. "Sir, can we-?"

"You wanna play, baby boy?" He asks and kisses away any wrinkles on Bucky's face when he tightens his grip on his penis. He's struggling to remain perfectly normal and stable during this, but Bucky can never help how preciously sensitive he gets when Steve uses that voice or touches him like this. He inhales and nods.

"Use your words like a big boy," Steve demands.

The brunet nibbles down on Steve's earlobe more for releasing tension in his body than pleasuring Steve. "Yes, sir. I wanna play."

Those are the magic words that Steve loves hearing and Bucky loves saying. That switch goes off in Bucky's body, commanding him to be the submissive receiver he's always been, and he absolutely melts in on himself, dick twitching with interest, and moaning Steve's name when he lifts his body up with one swoop and lays him out flat on his back, observing him like a predatory lion pursuing a gazelle.

Eye contact isn't broken when Steve tugs at the ends of Bucky's pants and flings them into the shadows of the room with no care to where they land. The moans escaping Bucky get pitchier and more distressed when Steve's dull nails scratch against his profound hip bones in the process of removing his underwear, leaving red marks in their path. His dick springs free, hard and waiting. It's so pretty - still is the most gorgeous one Steve's ever seen given he's seen a bit in his day.

At the sight of his Bucky naked, Steve fixes himself into being that protective, dominate giver that contributes to how hard he'd fallen for Steve. It's that switch in his Sir that assures him that Steve will do everything and make whatever isn't okay alright. Either by fucking him into oblivion till he can't remember his own damn name or by just telling him words of reassurance and playing in his hair till he falls asleep.

"Yeah?" Steve stalks to the edge of the bed, above Bucky, drinking in his naked form with greed. "You look so pretty like this, baby. You know that, huh?"

His dick is bulging and throbbing within the front of his Calvin Klein's, but he doesn't think to pleasure himself before doing so to Bucky. He'd wait all night to come if meant Bucky wanted him to. He patiently waits for the younger man to get himself situated and answer.

"I-I'm pretty, sir?"

Steve's eyebrows rise to his hairline. "I'm not doing my job if you have to question how good you look. Even before you began going to the gym, you've been a beautiful motherfucker."

Pink rushes to Bucky's face. "_Really_?"

"_Mhm_," Steve hums and caresses limp fingers along the surface of his boy's twitching cock. He jerks forward at the sudden contact and shoots himself upward to have his arms locked around Steve's neck. He's desperate to have him as close as possible, and the taunting shit he's doing on him isn't helping the fact that he's sensitive and horny as fuck.

"Tell me what you want first, baby boy," Steve growls in his ear, sending a constant wave of shivers down Bucky's spine and making his head hazy. He can't see straight, and he's so hard he's unsure what the fuck to request of Steve. All he wants - _fucking needs_ \- is to be touched or licked or_ fucking something_. He hates and lives for when Steve plays this game with him like he doesn't know what the hell Bucky needs done to him.

Steve knows. He always knows. He's just a little shit about it.

"You need me to touch you, don'tchu, love? Need me to spank that little ass of yours so you'll behave? Pull your hair so I can control you? You need me to get you shaking in my arms, huh? Get your legs shaking, too." He tortures him by running those artist hands over every inch of Bucky's body he can reach, deliberately not touching his erection, letting the air around them haunt it with the ghost of friction.

"Answer me," he demands sternly and tickles Bucky's inner thigh, getting him to squeal like a pig. They're all rhetorical questions, but he knows better than to not answer when his Sir asks a question, regardless of how ridiculous it is.

"Yes, s-sir," he shivers. "Need'ta be touched now."

"_Need_?" Steve chuckles at the word, breaking Bucky down even more with how patronizing he sounds. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no clue what you _need_. You want._ Want, want, want_. So _selfish_. All you want is this cock in you so you can nut and go to sleep, huh?"

His asshole flutters at the faint feeling of Steve inside of him pushing and pushing, tearing him apart and splitting him right in half. He quivers and tightens his arms around Steve, pumping his hip in tiny circles into the air to find some sort of relief. When getting none, he whines pathetically into Steve's ears and nibbles on the skin of his neck. That's his silent plead. His inaudible _please, sir_ that Steve turns to mush for. There's a faint, aroused shame at how true Steve's analysis of him is, and he guiltily agrees with an obedient, "Yes, sir."

He likes this _so much._ He likes Steve talking down on him like this. He needs this - no, _wants_, according to Steve. It's fucked up, but that's the only way he can feel freed.

_Give Steve the power. Let him hurt and hold you. Let him do this to you._

Steve knows it better than anyone. Showing some mercy, he licks his palm and gets a steady, relieving stroke going on Bucky's dick just as he had the night before. Thankful, Bucky cries out and pumps lightly in his hand instantly.

"What do you say, Buck?"

"Thank you, sir. _Thank you_," he exhales the breath he'd been waiting for permission to let go.

"You're welcome, baby boy. It's alright," he promises soothingly, using his other hand to keep Bucky steady on his sides since he's wobbling with how eager his hips are getting.

That mercy lasts about two more minutes till Bucky abuses the gesture and demands more of Steve with agitated pleads for him to be inside of him. It strikes Steve as ungrateful misbehaving, which lands Bucky on his stomach and awaiting further instruction. The second the bratty complaint of his Sir not doing enough for him came out his mouth, he saw the fire in his eyes and knew he should've just shut the fuck up. He mostly said it to defy Steve and trick him into giving him more - because he's selfish like Steve said - but he didn't know the guy would jerk his hand off his dick so swiftly it made his head spine, _slam him_ on the mattress, then yell at him to _not_ move a muscle if he valued his orgasm.

Now he's in trouble. He's in trouble, and he's got fucking goosebumps on every centimeter of his skin, prickling all the hair in his pores like there's a chill in the air when it's hot as fuck.

"M'sorry, sir", he apologizes, toes twitching nervously when Steve strides out of his line of sight. The rambling serves no purpose, but Bucky keeps going anyway. "I didn't mean to d-defy you...just want you in me... Cock's _so hard_..."

The pleading is useless. Once Steve's in this mood, he's_ in it_. It's like the trance he puts himself in when it comes to sketching - Steve could stand to be disrespected like that, but Sir _can't_.

"S-sir," his baby boy whines right in the back of his throat, sounding octaves past pathetic. All the blood in Steve's head rushes to his crotch at how helplessly uncoordinated he sounds just laying there on his bed, eyes darting around the room, mouth quivering. What would make this absolutely better is if Steve had something to tie his cute ass up, so he doesn't squirm at the punishment he's about to receive.

Bucky knows exactly what's coming, and he tells himself he's prepared until the sharp pain of Steve's palm on his left ass cheek cracks through him like the Earth splitting in half. Before he can even get a yell out, Steve's huge hands have him by his hips, arching Bucky's whole body back into the air so Steve can mount over him, bare dick sliding between the crease of his ass, slapping a hand over his mouth.

"Don't make a fucking noise," he growls, not even sounded remotely like himself. It shakes him to his core that he can sound this vicious and feel so much pleasure. "I'm gonna spank your ass _ten times-_"

Bucky cowers at that with his lips shut tight behind Steve's thick fingers. His body trembles at the sting still radiating over his ass. _Shit, he's done it now..._

"And if you make a _single_ noise, we're gonna start over, and I'm gonna add a spanking on. Understand me?"

The younger man grovels and nods in acceptance at what he's said, fear, panic and helplessness in his eyes. Steve removes his hands to caress Bucky's hollowed out cheek bones in contrast to the grinding assault he's fixing between his ass cheeks. "Use your words like a big boy, baby."

"Yes, sir. I understand," Bucky barely gets out, flushed and distracted by how fucking marvelous Steve's cock feels sliding along the length of his ass, teasing his anxious hole, getting him weaker. Steve grunts and squeezes the cheek together, making the slide more resistant and tighter around his dick.

"Ah, shit," he cries out, hand braced on Bucky's back. "This feels so good, baby boy. Maybe after I spank you, I just do this till I come and not let you get yours. How's that sound?"

He knows it's downright devious to torture his boyfriend like this, but it's all in love and good fun. Steve wouldn't _ever_ do that to Bucky - not after what he'd been through last night.

He asks anyway because despite being Sir, he still has manners.

Bucky gulps and a wanton cry of disapproval comes out his mouth once he finds the will to think clearly. "I-I _don't_ like that idea, sir... _Please_ lemme c-come..."

Bucky feels like he's dying now with his cock aching so hard, and Steve's being so deliciously mean to him. It's enough to get his eyes watering like he'd already received the punishment, but refuses to let the tears go for fear of deterring Steve from fucking him. Steve sees him trying to keep the tears in anyway, so he takes pity on him and lets his ass go, then retracts his dick from between the cheeks.

"Ah, my sweet baby boy," he sings playfully and warmly kisses the spot on Bucky's ass that he'd struck. "Y'know I like it when you beg. But you do owe me an apology. Can you do that?"

The brunet shakes his head desperately to prove his worth and reaches behind him to be touching Steve as a reminder that he's on Earth and not floating in hyperspace. It just_ feels so good._

"I a-a-ah, _fuck_," he moans and squeezes Steve's wrists. "I apologize for provoking you. You make me feel so good. I d-don't _deserve_ to come," he finishes and Steve's lips are to his in a millisecond. They release anxious moans against the other's mouth and part lips to have tongue to tongue contact.

Steve pulls away first to talk down to him. "You know better than to do that again, dontchu?"

"Yes, sir."

"Gonna be a good boy from now on?"

"Yes, sir."

Oh, he's _so obedient._ He deserves to come right now just from being so nice and pleasant for Steve.

"I don't like punishing my sweet boy," Steve asserts, feigning disappointment in Bucky. "I don't like having to teach my baby boy a lesson because he doesn't know how to act right. Do you, baby? Do you like being punished?"

That's a question they both know the answer to. For the sake of playtime, Bucky swallows deeply and says, "No, sir," with great conviction and submissiveness. "Pl-_please_, sir...please _punish_ me..."

Steve's heart practically soars out his chest from how good he sounds. Those noises and begs are just for him, and he has the right mind to skip out on the spanking and just fuck the poor guy like he'd wanted, but he's still Sir.

Sir owes his baby boy a punishment whether he wants it or not.

"You still have a lesson to learn, my dear," he reminds him, kissing a long trail from his lips down his whole body and right at the crack of his ass. "You've got nine left. Count out each one when I tell you to. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

That's all the consent Steve needs to pull himself back with his knees in the mattress as leverage and his shins to be hanging off the bed. The spot where he'd hit is still pretty red, so Steve makes a mental note to be lighter in his delivery. He wants to keep Bucky hard - not bruise him. If he did a fraction of what Bucky's careless, sadistic client did last night, he probably wouldn't touch Bucky again for fear of hurting him.

"You sure you're ready for this, sweetheart?" Steve assures then goes licking his palm with his wide tongue. Bucky nods weakly, and he'd reprimand him for not using his words, but Steve figures this ass whooping will suffice.

Steve tries a few practice swings before setting a hand at Bucky's tailbone to keep him from squirming, bringing his other hand back in line with his shoulder, and swinging it down to make instant contact with the fat of Bucky's cheeks. It's not as hard as the first one, but Bucky still jerks about, muzzling himself into the sheets to muffle the whines coming out of his mouth.

"Two," Steve counts and waits for Bucky to repeat it. His breathing pitches a few times, but through a clogged throat and subtle tears, he repeats the number.

"_Two_."

Everything within Steve is elated. His baby boy listens so well.

Steve only spanks him again when he's certain Bucky's stable and ready. He asks for confirmation after every spank, still in his role with a sliver of insecurity that makes Steve Steve. He's deterred with continuing the punishment when he sees Bucky absolutely wrecked at how badly it hurts and his inability to be vocal. His voice is probably locked tight and stuck in his throat, ready to be used to beg for more or beg him to stop... The only reason Steve _doesn't_ stop is because he's constantly reminding himself of what Bucky had told him the first night they'd have sex.

_"Um, you know what you said about this working if I trusted you? ... It goes the same way with me. If we're gonna pursue a physical thing, which I pray to God we are, we gotta be on the same page. For starters, I like rough shit. Being manhandled and fucked till my legs go numb. You gotta trust me when I say I'm fine and that you're not hurting me if I begin to cry or some shit, 'kay?"_

And the funny thing is, Steve _loves_ spanking. It's been said before that Steve could die from the euphoria it brings him to swipe his hand with as much force deserved on the beauty that is the human ass. The sounds it emits gets his eyes rolling to the back of his head and snarling with sweet pleasure...

That's in the back of his mind when he reaches the eighth spank, and Bucky's a jittery, crying mess, fighting so hard to stay still and quiet for Sir because those were his instructions. Sympathetic, Steve lifts him up and brings their faces close together so that their foreheads are pressed together and their noses nudge. Bucky's focus is light year's away. He's looking at Steve head on, but the gaze in his stare is so far off and distant that it's scaring Steve. Instead of freaking out, he keeps their faces close and kisses Bucky hard.

"Baby?" He says, alarmed. "Baby boy, look at me."

Bucky _is_ already looking at him, but there's galaxies and kaleidoscope patterns in his eyes like he's experiencing a trip on acid. Steve's shaking now, fearful of what the hell is happening to his boyfriend. Was he _too_ rough? Had he hurt him?

There's tears still streaming down his face that Steve wipes away. "Sweetheart, _baby_..." He moans into Bucky's cheek erratically. "Baby, what's wrong? C-can you hear me?"

And suddenly, Bucky nods and arches towards the curve of Steve's body, searching for friction and attention as well as offering himself. His movements are languid and almost rehearsed by how purposeful yet incalculable they are. He's a fucking wreck that's communicating with a body that doesn't have much control over itself at the moment. It's precious and pathetic to watch.

It doesn't occur to Steve that he's still following Steve's no talking rule till the poor man begs with lost eyes for his last two spanks.

"You want me to finish, baby?" Steve asks, kneading a hand into Bucky's hips.

Croaked from under usage, a distressed moan comes out of Bucky's mouth. That's a _yes_. He's absolutely _destroyed_. It's the prettiest sight Steve's ever seen.

"Okay, baby, you ready for nine and ten?" Steve preps him and pulls back, keeping him down with a free hand on his back.

Bucky nods into the mattress and lifts his hips as though to present his ass willingly to Steve's advances - like he's saying _'yeah, this fucking hurts, but I trust you and it feels good god you asshole just do it._' Steve smirks and rubs the muscle of Bucky's right cheek before licking his palm again and swiping down with fury against the expecting meat of Bucky's ass. It jiggles in the aftermath of the hit, making Bucky thrust into the mattress without a sound.

"Nine," Steve tells him.

His baby boy's face pops out of the mattress like a meerkat out of dirt with his teeth chattering and his lips swollen from how hard he's been biting into them. That puckered bottom lip and those leaking eyes take a good ten years off of him, making him look just as innocent and young as he acts.

_His poor baby..._

"_Nine_, baby boy," Steve encourages him patiently, squeezing the flesh he'd spank with sliding fingers that can't hold due to how much sweat is collecting on both of them. Bucky's so strung out, but he fights to open his mouth and eye his Sir through his peripherals, head angled over his shoulder.

"N-n-nine," he repeats back like a tape recorder. He keeps crying, never moving his hands to wipe his face out of sheer obedience of Steve strictly telling him _not_ to move. "Nine, sir."

"Good, good," he praises him and a hint of smiles appears on Bucky's face. He's alive off of this kinda shit, and Steve can't blame him. "You ready for the last one? The last one then I'll make you come?"

"C-c-come," Bucky latches onto that word like a new found hope, not caring he'd broken the no talking rule. "Make come me..."

Steve chuckles to himself at his broken English. He could cry at how fucking gorgeous this guy is.

"Yes, baby, come. Last one. You ready?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Feeling merciful, Steve gets an idea. "You wanna come, dontchu, baby?"

"Yes, sir," Bucky sobs. He's almost offended by the dumb question, but he can't think straight enough to break character.

"You think you can be a good boy and come on the next hit?"

That has Bucky's eyes going round and hopeful. If he held off this orgasm any longer, he'd probably explode from over stimulation and Steve's gracious enough to spare him further pain._ Ah, the pain..._

He figures he can come from being spanked just as hard as he would from being fucked because he's a sensitive fucker who has no dignity when it comes to being with Steve.

"Yes, sir. I-I can come," he replies anxiously, trusting Steve with everything he has. His cock's probably verging on purple; he needs this now. His brain is too scattered to care he'll come right on Steve's sheets again.

Steve gets his head on straight, flicks his wrists and swings back to meet the final slap to Bucky's cheeks. Incapable of holding in anything anymore, Bucky lets himself loose, dropping straight into the mattress and lets out the shrillest shriek that his vocal box could produce.

It's leaves a ring in Steve's ears so powerful that the sound waves surface his body and eventually has his cock wobbling about, reminding him it's there and needs attention. Still coming, Bucky involuntarily lets out another scream that sends both of them over the edge. It's so loud and off putting that a startled Steve's hand flies around his mouth and presses downward. The sound is only mildly muzzled behind Steve's digits and it has both their hearts hammering in their chests. More turned on that he could think to be, Steve slots his dick hotdog style between Bucky's ass cheeks and slides with sweat as a lubrication. Bucky's bucking - n_o pun intended_ \- like a wild bull jerking a rider off its back as Steve thrusts with long, uncoordinated thrusts. It looks resistant at first, but Bucky's _helping_ by tossing his ass towards Steve, getting him to come faster.

"Shit, you little -" Steve grunts, head pressed into Bucky's shoulder, biting the flesh when his vision goes white and a line of semen shoots out of his slit and onto Bucky's back. His body goes into autopilot as he soothes his orgasm out, breathing half the supply of air in his lungs onto the back of Bucky's neck.

In the wee seconds after he comes, Steve twitches with ecstasy and bites into Bucky's damp flesh again when secondary waves of tingling pressure travel along the canvas of his skin. "Shit," he mutters and sniffles. "_Shit_."

They calm down within about five minutes before the usual giggling starts and Steve slides himself out of the crevices of Bucky's ass.

"Ten," he murmurs into Bucky's ear before rolling off of him and onto his back. The comforter seems so cool compared to how hot he is. Bucky look so disoriented and out of place with the tears still coming down his face, but a satisfied smile planted on his lips.

"Ten," he repeats and giggles. "Ten, sir."

"Did so good," Steve compliments sleepily, relieved that's over. "So good."

"Yeah? My ass is on fire, so I hope so."

That gets Steve frowning with concern. "Did I hurt you? You faded out a little. It, ugh, scared me."

"Scared me, too," Bucky admits and yawns. "Maybe it was like the beginning stages of subspace? I don't know. You didn't hurt me, though. Well, a little, but I liked it."

"Subspace," Steve repeats like it'll jog his memory of the word. He shrugs. "What's that?"

Bucky kisses his cheek chastely, then brushing the sweat off Steve's forehead and into his drenched hair. "Aw, my sweet little Boy Scout. Dating a prostitute is gonna open your eyes to some new shit."

That's the _last_ thing Steve needed to be reminded of. "Like subspace," he offers. "Which _is_?"

"Once I tell you what that is, I gotta get into Topspace and the whole Dom and sub ordeal, but that's a conversation for another day, babe," Bucky utters into Steve's ear and sucks the shell of it, licking all the perspiration away. The words Bucky's using are ones Steve's not familiar with, but the way he's twirling his tongue in his ear has his cock twitching with interest and prepping for round two. Bucky's gonna _kill_ him.

But before he can, Steve's gotta get him cleaned and treated. That's always the first priority. "Let me get you taken care of," he announces and pushes Bucky off of him so he can get his sweat pants back on.

"No, Steve," his boyfriend whines childishly, already to his knees, softened dick dripping come right down his wide thighs and onto the silk sheets. That's a sight to see, but Bucky ignores it while Steve's face turns pink. "Just stay here. My ass is fine. J-just stay and keep playing with me."

"It'll only take a second," he tells him then points to his crotch. "_That_ better be cleaned up by the time I get back or I'm gonna give you _twenty_ spankings this time."

The threat is heavy. Bucky looks down at himself and turns a soft shade of scarlet at the mess he'd made. "_Oh_," he mumbles and refused to meet Steve's eyes. "Yes, sir."

In two strides, Steve's back on the other side of the room kneeling into the bed and cupping Bucky's neck into his palm, pulling him in for a kiss.m"Good boy," he praises him in that lost Brooklyn drawl. The affection gets Bucky beaming and kissing Steve back.

When they pull apart, Steve heads to the kitchen for a bag of ice and water for he and Bucky. Carter is by his side, nudging him in the thigh with her snout with a silent shine to be petted. On instinct, Steve reaches down to pet her ears and puts ice cubes in the plastic baggie with one hand. In the middle of doing this, he hears a faint, distressed moaning coming from down the end the hallway. For a second, he smirks, assuming it's Bucky trying to beckon him back, but the smile fades when the moaning is actually coming from the other end of the hall, where Mischka's room is.

Well, the _guest_ room.

Unguarded, Steve listens harder and stops shuffling with the ice to go down the hallway while Carter follows with just as much alarm. Her door's closed but as he gets closer to the room, he can hear her crying getting louder and louder. Immediately concerned, he presses his ear to the door and knocks.

"_Mischka_?"He calls and waits. The crying doesn't stop, but she must've stuttered in surprise at him being on the other side because there's a hiccup. "Mischka, honey, it's Steve," he tells her and waits some more. "Are you crying? What's the matter?"

Carter begins to scratch at the door, eyeing up at Steve with the best '_what's wrong_?' glare she can. He gives his dog a shrug and knocks another time. The crying doesn't falter - in fact, it gets _louder_ and _harder_. It's the most heartbreaking thing Steve's probably ever heard in his life. It startles him enough to rush down the hallway to his bedroom where Bucky's in the middle of stripping the bed of its sheets, ass naked and grinning.

Before he can get a dirty line out, he detects the worry on Steve's face and scrunches his eyebrows together. "What's wr-" he begins, but Steve cuts him off with a hand in the air.

"I'm not sure _why_, but I think Mischka's crying," he informs him and that has Bucky's eyebrow rising in suspicion. Immediately, he's getting dressed and pushing passed Steve to get to the guest room._ Daddy mode activated._

Carter's still waiting at the closed door with her ears casting downward in sadness. Bucky listens just as closely as Steve had with his ear pressed to the door, listening to his daughter cry.

"Baby, it's Daddy," he announces himself, knocking twice with his metal fist. "Mischka, what's wrong?"

The weeping only continues to fill the apartment, and it's eating Steve's heart out with unchallenged agony. Bucky, on the other hand, is a parent who's used to tears so his face is entirely neutral. Steve goes to knock once more before Bucky huffs and twists the knob to barge in, uncaring of the consequences he'll endure of a dramatic six year old who values her privacy on the other side. All he gives a damn about is getting to the root of why she's gotten all upset and what he can do to make whatever it is go away.

When the men enter the guest room, the little girl is immediately nowhere to found with gets Steve's heart rate speeding up and eyes widening, ready to look for her, but Bucky sets a hand on his chest to relax him. Steve eyes him incredulously about to protest, but his boyfriend puts a metal finger to his lips to silence him and a flesh finger to point to the floor.

Steve directs his eyes that way and a weight is lifted off his shoulders when he see two, little feet sticking out from under the frilly, pink bed skirt.

He sighs.

Bucky strides with catlike, silent precision to crouch in front of the edge of the bed where her feet are poking out. He motions for Steve to close the door, and he does, watching with hard eyes at what's happening.

At the sound of the door closing, Mischka's feet pull in momentarily tucked safely away under the bed, till her head pokes out to inspect that the men are gone only to jump and scream at Bucky staring her down. Steve and Bucky laugh a little at how she hides herself back under the bed to avoid them, but little does she know they're not leaving till they know why she's crying.

"Go away," she hisses but with no venom. It's _adorable_ really, and Steve kinda smiles while Bucky's eyes roll into another dimension.

"Pretty tough talk for someone who was just crying her eyes out," he says and lifts the bed skirt to reveal her red, wet face. "You wanna come outta there and talk to us? Tell us _why_ you're under the bed, maybe?" He says, amused and reaching his flesh hand forward to coax her from her hiding spot.

The deliberation is clear on her face. She's indecisive on whether she should or shouldn't out of fear? Uncertainty? Steve can't read why, but he knows he doesn't like Mischka looking at him like that.

Eventually she does put her trust in Bucky and gives him her hand. He pulls her out from under the bed and has her raised on his hip within a second. "Atta girl," he says and wipes her face delicately. "Now what's the matter? Huh?"

She's calm for a second before looking between her dad and Steve then crumpling into Bucky's shoulder with a chorus of fresh, choked tears. Stunned, Bucky looks at Steve not to be accusing but for assistance, practically saying _'what'd we do_?!'

They give her a second to relax again and assist her in calming down by rubbing circles on her back and whispering serene things in her ear. She shudders in Bucky's arms and locks her arms around his neck like letting go would be the most irresponsible thing she could do.

"What's wrong? Tell us, sweet pea," Steve tries and sits on the bed, elbows digging into his thighs as he hunches over. "We won't get mad."

She pulls away from Bucky and sniffles with a runny nose. "I thought you guys _loved_ each other!" She exclaims accusingly.

They two of them share a look. Neither know what the hell she's talking about.

"What are you talking about?" Bucky asks, sitting adjacent to Steve, placing her between them. "Why do you say that?"

She wipes her face with the back of her hand and leans her head on Bucky's metal shoulder. "I heard you guys _fighting_."

"_Fighting_?" Steve quips and tries to recall time she's _ever_ heard them fight. The one thing Steve and Bucky don't ever do - and are careful to never do - is argue in front of Mischka.

"J-j-just now. Stevie, you were hitting Daddy ten times, and Daddy was crying and yelling! Steve was loud too, and I tried to come in and save you guys, but the door was locked and -" she huffs out at once but can barely continue when she begins to cry some more.

_Ten times?_

_Crying?_

_Yelling?_

The second it clicks in Steve, it clicks in Bucky as well, and their heads snap up to glare at each other over top Mischka. Bucky's eyes are wide and glossy with mortification, and his lips are in a tight, chapped line like he's tasted something bitter. Steve's more embarrassed than anything, but keep his expression as settled as possible even though he kinda wants to laugh as well as cleanse his body with holy water.

Having the six year old hear their activities is one thing but _explaining_ the situation is something else entirely that Steve would gladly giggle about if he _weren't_ apart of it. Sex is one level thing he can probably tolerate with explaining, but kinks like spanking and the filthy shit he and Bucky do are subjects he prays Mischka never has the displeasure of knowing about.

Well, the day was bound to come for these things to be introduced to the girl.

It's just that Bucky and Steve'd been hoping it'd be a little later like when Mischka's eleven or twelve, taking a health class. Not at six years old hearing her fucking father being deliciously spanked by his boyfriend.

Steve was, maybe, ten or eleven when he'd had the talk with Sarah and Joseph. He can't necessarily remember what they'd told him besides always using condoms to avoid STI's and why boys have certain parts that girls don't. Joseph was vague, but Sarah was a nurse so she didn't hesitate in showing Steve reference pictures from the hospital of _girly parts and boy parts_ as she'd put it. The sex portion of the conversation was a bit hazy because he was still dying from the embarrassment of waking up that morning with a wet bed and unfairly hard penis. Sarah Rogers walking in on her eleven year old son, staring at himself naked in the mirror with his jaw on the ground and dropping a basket of laundry was a sight to see. Joseph found it hilarious, and Steve felt like jumping off of bridge when she went down the hall screaming, "_Steven's got a boner! Joey, Steven's had a wet dream!"_

Words like 'wet dream' and 'boner' meant nothing at the time, but as Steve got older and more educated, he figures he had every right to wanna die of embarrassment.

That same feeling washes over him when he sits here twenty years later, staring at Bucky, telepathically trying to figure out what to tell his daughter. Clearly, she's upset for good reason since any ignorant person would think the two of them had been fighting.

Bucky sighs and adjusts himself on the bed to get comfortable. His ass must be really hurting, but now's not the most appropriate time to be turned on by it.

"Mischka," he says carefully and runs a hand over his face. "Steve and I _weren't_ fighting."

"You weren't?"

"No. And _yes_, we _still_ like each other so don't worry."

She sniffles again. "Then _what_ were you doing?"

Steve's brows arch in questioning as he awaits Bucky's answer. He inhales sharply and grunts.

"Well, I don't know if I can get too in depth with it now, but when two people-"

"Two grown people," Steve adds to clarify.

Bucky points to him quickly and nods

rapidly. "Yes! When two, _grown_, consenting, _grown_, responsible, _grown_, willing, _grown_ people," he enunciates his words without flaw, emphasizing grown so that's the main word sinking into her head, "people love each other they feel things for one another. Okay?"

"What kinda things?"

"I can't really explain right now, since you're kinda young," Bucky tells her, heedful of the words he uses. "But, when two, _grown_ -"

"_Bucky_," Steve hisses, but his boyfriend's hands are up in defense.

"I'm just making sure she gets it!" He defends himself and looks back down at his daughter. "Anyway, when two people feel certain things for one another, their bodies react in different ways. Like when you get angry, you wanna hit something or cry."

"Or when you listen to your ballet music and you wanna dance," the blond adds helpfully so she understands.

"Yeah, like that," Bucky agrees and runs flesh fingers through her hair. "These kinda feelings make you wanna kiss and hug, y'know, and ugh, _that_ kinda stuff."

The little girl doesn't pick up on what she's saying, but he keeps going anyways.

"But along with kissing and hugging, there's _other_ things your mind and heart are telling your body to do. It's a bit complicated. Let's just say these other things and feelings you do with this other person aren't to be done out in public. That feeling gets people to do some crazy things."

"Is it a good feeling?"

"It should be. If it's not, then you shouldn't act on the things your body, mind, or heart are telling you to do."

She seems to grasp the concept but she's not truly convinced. "So, you guys were doing _what_ exactly?"

"Acting on our feelings," Steve answers honestly and looks endearingly up at Bucky. "It's something you'll learn when you're older. When people act on these feelings, things happen and they make a bit of noise. We're sorry we scared you, but we're not fighting."

"You swear?"

"We swear."

She sniffles a third time and hiccups. "Okay," she says and hugs Steve's arm. "I love you, Stevie. What feeling does that make my body do?"

That throws him off by a mile. He hadn't been expecting that, so he just pats her on the back reassuringly with his mouth hanging open. Steve'll just have to accept that his death with be sweet as saccharin and the autopsy will just show a picture of the Barnes family.

"Well, you can start by giving Stevie a kiss," Bucky suggests and taps a finger to Steve's hot, pink-kissed cheek. Mischka's halfway in Steve's lap, smashing her tiny lips to Steve's face with an exaggerated puckering sound.

"Do you love me, Steve?"

"Yes, sweetie, I do. A lot, actually."

"Can _I_ have a kiss?"

"Why, sure!" He says and grants her a kiss just as soft as the one she'd out on his cheek. That gets her giggling giddily while Bucky watches with adoration at how comfortable the two are with each other. He's looking at Steve like he's in love, and Steve's returning the glance as he tickles the little girl.

"Wait," she suddenly pipes up after a being attacked with twenty wiggling fingers along her sides. Her stare is on Bucky. "If you guys aren't fighting and you still like each other, then _why_ was Stevie hitting you?"

He doesn't mean to laugh, but he lets a good chuckle out at her question. ""Um, ugh...well...he was loving me. I know it sounds odd, but he was actually making Daddy feel _really_ _good_. He was loving me in a way that adults -_ only adults_ \- love each other."

If Steve were six, he probably would buy that. Mischka's a bit smarter than that, so she just stares at him, unbelieving. "You were screaming like you were in pain."

It's gonna take more than a few vague metaphors to get this girl to be satisfied with the justifications of their actions.

"I was screaming because the way Steve was making me feel was..._good_. I was happy," he tells her and glances off to the side and shakes his head. "Um, yah. Hon, you'll understand when you're older. You'll be doing the same thing one day, I guarantee," he sighs nostalgically, scanning over his daughter as though he were about to give her away at her wedding. It's a sad thought thinking that one day Mischka will eventually be without Bucky and have a boyfriend of her own.

"So, when I'm older, I'm gonna stand in a room with a boy and scream and yell?" She asks just to make sure. It's so innocent coming from her.

"_Something_ like that," Bucky says, kisses her forehead and stands. "Feeling better?"

She glances between them and gives them a shy grin. "Yeah." She climbs to the head of the bed and allows herself to be tucked under the comforter. "Can I have another kiss? From _both_ of you?"

The men share a quick look and bend forward to simultaneously kiss her on each cheek. The giggles that comes out her mouth is almost uncharacteristic.

"Goodnight, daddies," she murmurs and sinks resignedly into the pillow, shutting her eyes, eyelashes dipping to tickle her cheeks. "I love you both."

Daddies. _Plural_.

A rapid sharp breath is inhaled, quieting the room, and it only takes Steve a moment to realize it's from _him_.

_Daddies_.

If Bucky had heard her and comprehended it like Steve has, he damn sure doesn't show it. His eyebrows don't even perk up nor does his chiseled jaw to drop; he seems fine. Perfectly fine like his daughter _didn't_ just openly address his boyfriend of _barely_ two months as her other dad.

It's different when Steve looks out, cares for, and loves Mischka like his own daughter; it seems natural for the adult to take a caregiver role for the child of their partner. Mainly because it felt right and it's a fun feeling taking on that role for a kid. It's exciting being known as Daddy's fun boyfriend. It's not entirely for the sake of Bucky that Steve does the things he does for Mischka like walking her to school and back after ballet rehearsal, buying her gifts just for the hell of it, redecorating the guest room to fit her liking, or giving her advice. He does that stuff because, well, he _loves_ her - even if he didn't have Bucky.

But it turns every table in the book when the relationship's the other way around. Mischka's accepting Steve as a father figure. As her father figure.

It's a bit more than acceptance, though. It's deeper like _approval_. She approves of Steve, and she loves him the same way she does Bucky.

She probably doesn't even know the weight of saying that and what it's currently doing to Steve.

_Daddies_. _Plural_. As in _more than one._

It's heartbreaking to a certain extent. Having said what she did and being so surprised she'd actually said it aloud in front of Bucky only reminds him that she's not actually his kid, and he's only latching on so quickly to Mischka because she's a sliver of what he always wanted and could've had with Peggy.

It's not fair to intrude on what Natasha and Bucky already had. He didn't deserve to feel like a second dad for this little girl when he wasn't there for the first walk, the first word, the first birthday... It's _wrong_. He shouldn't be here. It's not his place to try and be Natasha. He should stop kidding himself and realize that whatever the hell he's doing here_ isn't right._

Suddenly, he feels like crying. His eyelids sting and water rushes to the surface of his eyeballs, and before his emotions can get the advantage on him, he rushes out of the room and back to his own bedroom. Bucky lingers behind to gives her one last kiss goodnight before rushing back down the hall to Steve, obviously not missing how hurriedly he left. Before he can reach him, Steve's in his bathroom, back pressed to the door and sliding how till his bottom hits the white tile floor.

"Steve?" Bucky says from the other side, knocking barely so not to wake Mischka back up. Steve's right hand flies upward to lock the door immediately. Bucky must hear the click because all that comes out on his side is a frustrated sigh.

Steve doesn't mean to frustrate him.

_He just...he just..._ That's just it. He _doesn't know_ what he just.

Without truly meaning to, he lets out a sickened sob when his earlier behavior struck him like an eighteen wheeler. _Again_, he'd been mean to Bucky. He _made him cry_. He was _too_ rough with him. He didn't mean to make his baby boy cry. He didn't mean to get off on the sight of him, looking so deliciously fucked out in the worst way, coming on Steve's expensive's silk sheets like a bad boy.

The second the image of his traumatized, red-bottomed baby boy writhing in pain on his account flashes across his eyes, he feels the attack coming on. His chest and stomach is filling up with surely _not_ butterflies - it's too heavy to be butterflies. It feels more like elephants... Like elephants, wildebeest, horses, buffaloes, fucking dinosaurs even are competing and designated Steve's chest as their raceway.

He pulls his knees in so he's curled in what ever type of ball a thirty - two year old, 6'2, war vet ca be against the door. Lungs betraying him, the flow of his insides with his nose, mouth, and the atmosphere ceases to function. This feels more like a boa constrictor making itself comfortable around the length of his neck, squeezing and forcing his ways about Steve like a branch in a tree, cutting off his air way. A scream dies out on his lips when Bucky demands to be let in.

He's _not_ Natasha. God, he _never_ will be Natasha. What right did he have to sit there at that dinner table tonight and flirt and have fun with her family when she _couldn't_?

"Stevie," Bucky tries softly this time. "Stevie, if it's about what Mischka said, I'll talk to her. If it makes you, _ugh_," he searches for the word and Steve vaguely pictures him glancing towards the ceiling thoughtfully like it's written there. "_Uncomfortable_?" He settles on then says, "Overwhelmed to take on that role for her, I get it. Just, please don't shut me out. I know something's the matter."

Steve knows this - the anxiety attack - is scaring Bucky. He's never lapsed into one with him around and for that specific reason. Scaring his boy like this familiarizes with the exposure of an open wound. He feels too open, too defenseless; he never wanted his baby boy to see his Sir like this. He's supposed to be strong and protective, someone Bucky can look up to and feel confident in being sheltered by. He can't do that when he's cowering like a scaredy cat on his bathroom floor, ready to vomit and apologize for even existing when Natasha's dead.

The elephants stomp harder and the constrictor tugs tighter.

Passing out seems so heavenly right now. Passing out and not waking up seemed even better, but Steve's not selfish enough to do that to Bucky. Especially not when the guy's on the other side of the door, threatening to quote the entire _Frozen_ movie including the songs until Steve comes out.

Maybe Steve needs that, Bucky's voice. It's the rope keeping him hanging from this world to the next.

_Relax. Please relax, Rogers. Just calm down._

"I don't know, girly," Bucky says in the middle of melodically asking Steve if he'd like to build a snowman, presumably to Carter who begins scratching at the door right on Steve's spine. "I don't know why your Daddy's locked in there. He's not opening up. It's scaring you, too, huh?"

"I'm sorry," is what feebly comes out of him. "_I'm sorry_."

Bucky doesn't hear him. "Steven Grant Rogers, if you and your All American apple pie, Chris Evans looking ass don't come out here_ right now_, I'm gonna break down this door. And_ you know _I'm crazy enough to do it."

He is and _yeah_, Steve knows it.

_He loves you so much, you fucking punk,_ is what Carter's practically saying when she barks and doesn't let the silence deter her from scratching at the door.

The animals surrounding him don't let up no matter how pathetically he begs. All he needs is to get over this hump, and then he'd leave the bathroom. He won't let Bucky see him like this.

"Sweetheart, at least make a sound so I know you're alive," his boyfriend chuckles nervously, using that light tone of voice so that the weight of his words don't sound as serious as they are. "Steve?"

Carter barks again.

"Stevie? Baby? B-baby, c'mon, _don't_ do this to me."

He sounds so _hurt_. Shit, he _didn't_ mean to hurt him.

"_Sir_?" He tries and the vulnerable nature of it coming from Bucky at a time like this turns the snake into a noose and the elephants into the planet. What's he even doing right now?

Over the course of five minutes, Steve wheezes louder and ends up laying on his stomach to relieve himself of the discomfort of the door pressing into his back muscles. Bucky's damn near done quoting _Frozen_ when he abruptly stops and his voice fades. Steve latches onto the echo of how he'd sounded just second before, imitating each voice accordingly and singing bad on purpose. Bucky's voice is gone for a few seconds, followed by a slamming door, and then guitar notes.

The noises clogging Steve's head silence as soon as Bucky's real singing voice breaks through the door separating them with the accompany of the same acoustic guitar he'd been playing after dinner. The sound breaks down every nerve ending in his body, and chills his spine which ultimately cools him down and off the highway to hell he's pretty sure he's destined for.

_"I'll take the worst of what you got...It hurts more than sticks and rocks...You know I'll be there...You know I'll be there...And I would be a punching bag...Throw it all and don't hold back. Still I'll be there...You know I'll be there..."_

He remembers this piece as one of his favorites despite never being finished. This song is a constant reminder of the day Steve cried about Peggy and Bucky, James at the time, gave him a massage, blessed his upper half with kisses, and soothed him to sleep. Those words - _"Just let it out, baby. I'm staying right here..."_ \- stick in the back of his mind, and like magic, the planet turns into a pebble.

_"Cause I used to live in fear, it was my home...But there are harder things to be than all alone...You're the broken part of me that makes me whole...But so unsure.."_

_Let him take care of you. Open the door,_ he's telling himself._ Bucky's here. He's staying. He's got you how you got him._

_"Nothing is forever, nothing would be better...Than the love you're giving me...I just gotta have you...Wish I didn't have to...When you gonna set me free? __Like it or not, we were doomed from the start...I know that you'll agree...But nothing is forever, nothing would be better...Better than you and me..."_

The snake around his neck dissipates into a twig, allowing his lungs and nasal passage way to become acquainted again and work harmoniously in letting Steve breathe.

With each note Bucky's singing, his body releases itself and lets Steve move again and up off the floor. His legs let him stumble to the sink where he wipes his tears then splashes his pale face with hot water. He's sure he looks an absolute wreck, but at the point, he's getting ounces of the confidence he'd had earlier at dinner back, pumping in his veins and juicing his muscles.

There's shame on his face when he unlocks the door and peeks out to see Carter waiting patiently on the other side with her tongue flopping out her mouth. He kneels down to pet her and she laps his face with that tongue happily with relieved high pitched whines.

Steve keeps his head ducked to avoid looking right at Bucky. The other man doesn't make it easy for that to happen when he uses a metal finger to lift Steve's head by the chin. Their eyes lock immediately, and within seconds of doing so, Bucky reads _every_ thought tucked deep in the darkness of Steve's anxiety like they were written and put on display through Steve's expression. In a way, they are and in another way, they aren't.

Bucky's just _that_ _good_ at figuring him out. That open wound feeling turns more into a cry for help. He's not sure why he needs help, but if Bucky's offering, he'll accept it.

His entire metal hand takes delicate time to cup Steve's cheek and scratch at the raises hairs on the back of Steve's neck. The blond is momentarily floored that Bucky trusts himself enough to comfort with the metal hand, so to show appreciation, he lets his head fall into the prosthetic hand and his cheeks warms despite the cold of the metal. Steve wonders if he can feel with this hand, but who'd pay the kinda money Bucky did just to not be able to relish in feeling?

The stray thumb caress over Steve's cheek and bottom gets him shaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that. Are you okay?" He asks selflessly and Bucky frowns at him.

"_Fuck_ _me_. Are _you_ okay?" He asks quietly, chin held high and proudly as he forces his soul to meet Steve's. He looks so shaken.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he says again and intertwines his fingers with Bucky's flesh ones at his side.

"Answer me," Bucky urges gruffly. "_Are you okay?_"

He's _never_ heard him sound like _that_ before. A shiver shoots up Steve's spine like his nerves are telling his brain to do as he's told because Bucky means business right now. It gets him to obey though and answer Bucky's question.

"I'm fine."

"Are you lying?"

"No, Buck, babe, I really am fine."

The unyielding stare and puckered pout Bucky's sporting as he once overs Steve shows he's not convinced. He externally looks tough, but in his own mind where his secrets are safe, he's scared as fuck, too. That side of Steve has _never_ been seen by him before, and normally, he's worrying for his boyfriend.

"You're a shit liar," Bucky concludes and brings Steve inward for a hug, letting Steve dip his head into his neck versus Bucky doing it to him. "What the hell happened?"

Steve knows he shouldn't lie. "Had a bit of an anxiety attack. I'm sor-"

"You didn't tell me you have anxiety," Bucky says now, worrisome and surprised at this news. "Is this a regular thing?"

He's afraid to answer, so he bows his head deeper into Bucky's neck like it'll shield him and deter further questioning.

"Not as often as they used to be," he admits. "I used to get them a lot when I came home from Afghanistan. Or when Peggy first left. I haven't had one in a while."

"Are they always _this bad_?" Bucky sounds concerned. His chest rumbles everything he talks, but he maintains pacifying Steve with swirling circles on his shoulder blades.

"The more often I'd have them, the less severe they'd be. I've only had a few in the last couple of months. Those were pretty bad." Bucky stiffens against him, but he doesn't stop his hand on his back.

"Last couple of months," Bucky repeats in thought. "When we started dating."

Out loud, Steve can hear how terrible and incriminating that sounds. "They're _not_ because of you."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Steve hutches his shoulders. "I was embarrassed."

Bucky pulls them apart to analyze Steve, and his face is blank for a second till a friendly grin spreads his lips. "_Embarrassed_?"

That sounds so childish coming from somewhere outside his head. "Yeah," Steve mumbles and clears his throat. "I didn't want you to see me _so weak_. I was afraid you'd think I was, I don't know, unfit? Ugh, I was afraid if you saw me breaking down, you'd see me as unworthy of being your, ugh, y'know..._your_ Sir."

The sides of Bucky's eyes crinkle when they widen in shock. Steve didn't think he'd ever say that out loud, but sure enough he did, and Bucky's looking at him like he's hung the moon and gave it to him in a little box with a bow.

"You're serious?"

Steve hangs his head._ Why'd I say that?_

"You didn't want me seeing you having an anxiety attack because you were afraid I'd think you're too much of a bitch to be my Sir? My Dominant?" Bucky asks cheekily for confirmation purposes. Well, Steve wouldn't have used _those _words exactly, but it hits the nail on the head hard enough.

"Yeah," he answers, tightening Bucky's fingers in his own. The younger man doesn't even try to hide his elation when he dives in to kiss Steve square on his mouth. The flavor of the wine they'd had at dinner clashes with Steve's tongue almost immediately. Off guard, he peeks an eye open to catch Bucky's eyelids wrinkling with how tight he's got his eyes shut. Momentarily confused, Steve only responds to the bruising kiss after recognizing that this is a happy kiss and not one of sympathy. He maneuvers his lips to the beat of Bucky's and pulls him in closer to deepen the contact.

Bucky extracts himself shortly after moaning into Steve's mouth, and his face is flushed and hot from being so in touch with Steve.

"_Thanks_?" Steve says first, hoping Bucky will laugh, but instead he bites his bottom lip temptingly, batting his lashes like butterfly wings at Steve. "What?"

"You have no idea how adorably and unbelievably stupid you can be sometimes," he answers with all the love in the world. "Like, seriously, the things you say half the time are usually really cute and precious, but _that's_ probably the most heartbreaking, fluffiest thing you've _ever_ said."

"I'm lost."

Bucky rolls his eyes adoringly and kisses him another handful of times with harmless nips, keeping his face there with a stubborn metal hand against the back of his neck. "Alright, no one can really attest to their proudest moment being an anxiety attack. I get that, babe. I'm with you on that. But, sweetie, you don't have to go through that alone. Okay, yeah, the 'Sir' and 'baby boy' thing is cute for when we fuck, but_ you're my boyfriend_ before you're my Sir or anything else. I'm always gonna be in _your_ corner, and it shouldn't be where you feel like you _can't_ come to _me_ to comfort _you_ instead of the other way because of some kink we practice."

Bucky pauses to assure he's holding Steve's attention. He kisses him again and keeps their foreheads pressed, their noses nudged at the tips, and mouths close enough that they share the same flow of oxygen passing in and out their lungs.

"No anxiety attack or insecurity or fucking _anything_ is gonna change that _you're my fucking baby_, and I've got your back through _anything_. If I'm not on the field with you, you can damn sure catch me on the sidelines, cheering your ass on. You get what 'm saying?"

Throughout the course of their relationship, Steve can't recall a time where Bucky was so _forceful_ in claiming Steve as enthusiastically as Steve was in claiming him. The jealousy and territorial streaks they feel outside of each other barely touch the type of emotion Bucky'd put into what he'd just said. Steve's not used to it, being claimed as someone's _baby_. Sure, he's always fallen into being someone's _man_, but the thrill of knowing Bucky's just as diligent in protecting Steve as he is him sends a euphoric wave of childlike, naive happiness to every endorphin in him. It's pumping through his veins, and the image of his Bucky and the words he's said are embedded into the memory card of his brain for life so not even the worst of accidents could erase it.

"Yeah," he replies with a content sigh. "Yeah, I get you."

This is when Bucky goes a little shy and crosses his arms over his chest, chin ducked down and avoid Steve's eyes. Steve recognizes it as a defense mechanism, so he wraps his arms around Bucky envelopes him into to a half hug.

He doesn't say anything till Bucky does. "Can I tell you something? I feel like _now's_ the most appropriate time to get it off my chest. Or else I _never_ will."

"Tell me," Steve says the kisses his forehead. "You know you can tell me anything."

Bucky stiffens up again and finally lets Steve look at him. "'M not expecting to hear it back, especially so soon, but, um," he twists his mouth around to stall his though process but eventually just shrugs. "I love you."

Steve wants to think he'd been prepared to hear it after the two slip ups before, but hearing it aloud from a consciously aware Bucky instead of a high or fucked out one, is something wavelengths above what he'd expected it to be like. It's real now. As certain as there's clouds in the sky and grass on the ground, Bucky's awake and alive and undoubtedly telling Steve he's in love with him.

"You love me?" is all he can think to say.

Bucky lifts one shoulder to carelessly shrug. "_In_ love with you," he corrects but puts his hand up as though to steadily halt Steve's next statement. "But it's not like an '_I'm ready to, like, marry you_' kinda in love. It's the beginning stages of falling for someone where you kinda don't mind that they snore at night because it puts you to sleep faster than any lullaby."

"Or when you catch them wearing a t-shirt you don't remember letting them borrow, but you don't make a fuss because it looks so much better on them than it ever could you," Steve adds, remembering a distinct, Sunday morning of that exact thing happening. He awoke to Bucky cooking pancakes in an old white V-neck that'd been riddled to death with holes and paint splatters, and hearts swelled in his eyes at how gorgeous the man looked with the natural light of the morning hitting him just right through the window, wearing the ratty t-shirt so casually but making it look like high fashion just for simply wearing it with that crooked grin.

Bucky has no idea, but that, among other times, was one of the handful of moments Steve decided he loves him.

"That, too," the brunet agrees. "Is that okay, though? That I love you?"

"Yes, it's okay," he promises, and purposely doesn't react to the hopeful, uplifted look on Bucky's face as he waits for Steve to say it back. He _wants_ to. He feels it in his soul and down to the most brittle part of his bones, but there's a cat holding his tongue hostage.

"Y'know, although it's been a short while we've been together, I find myself falling in deep with you," he says, curving around the 'L' word as best he can. "Bucky, as much as I do wanna say I do, I _can't_ tell you I love you..._right now_."

His boyfriend's face falls slowly even though he's trying to fight not to show how disappointed and sad that unexpected response has gotten him. His eyes droop and his jaw clenched defensively, like he's resisting to choke out for an explanation why. His bottom lip quivers, but before it can advances to anything else, Steve kisses him vigorously hard with their teeth clanking together in the process. Bucky falls into the kiss and doesn't fight it but whimpers when Steve pulls away.

"Hey, _hey_," he coos against Bucky's lips. "Don't make that face, love. It's gonna take me a little time to get the courage to say it back, okay? You're a better man than I, having the fortitude to tell me."

Even though Steve does love Bucky, and Bucky knows he does, it still has him looking crestfallen like someone kicked his puppy. There's not much Steve could say to fix the look off his face. But a hint of a smile appears on Bucky's face when he nods in understanding.

"I won't _ever_ force you to say it back," he tells Steve. "Only say it when you _know_ you mean it."

Bucky's so honest and pure that it's unfair to him that Steve can't say it back even though he's probably gonna burst and splat glitter and confetti everywhere with the amount of fucking love he feels for Bucky. He wants to say it - _God, he really wants to._ Bucky deserves to hear it. For once, after going through relationship after relationship of uncertainty, he needs - just fucking once - to be told that he's got someone unconditionally in love with him. He deserves that random '_I love you'_ text in the middle of the day. He deserves to say it without feeling inadequate when the person he's saying it to doesn't feel the same.

"Um," Bucky clears his throat. "You wanna tell me why you had an anxiety attack? Is it 'cus she called you -"

Steve cuts him off with another kiss. He'd rather Bucky not mention it.

"Let's just get to bed," he suggests and leads him to the unmade, bare mattress. "Gotta get some sleep if you wanna be up for shopping tomorrow."

Although the apprehensive, unconvinced look on his face doesn't disappear, he still nods and says "Sure" through a pair of tight lips and a clenched jaw. He doesn't cause trouble when Steve grabs a comforter from the linen closet and wraps them in a superhuman burrito with Steve spooning Bucky's back, face dug deep into the back of his neck and hands intertwined to make sure that he can't worm away in the middle of the night.

It's three in the morning by the time Bucky gets to sleep and is snoring into the dark when Steve blindly, in a sleepy haze kisses his neck and whispers, "I love you, too, Buck," then falls back asleep.

* * *

A month and some weeks of dating didn't outdo Steve's eight years of being a hermit which is why Bucky and his family went Black Friday shopping while Steve sat on his couch beside Darcy with his laptop, taking advantage of the Black Friday deals with promo codes and coupons for Christmas gifts. He'd gone through nearly everyone of his gift list, and now he's stuck on the one person who matters the most but is the hardest to conjure up a gift idea for.

"What do you even get someone you've been dating barely two months?" Steve asks out loud, not particularly to Darcy, but she answers anyway and doesn't look up from her own laptop when she does.

"Underwear," she says, matter of fact, sucking the sugar off of a gummy worm in the process.

"What kinda underwear?" He asks, considering it despite how simple it is. He scrolls the website further, eyebrows raised at the idea.

"I don't suspect he wears thongs so maybe like whimsical boxer briefs with funny patterns and prints and stuff," she elaborates and pokes his thigh with her big toe. "Then again, thongs don't sound like a _bad_ idea."

"_Hmph_," Steve huffs and keeps browsing the website, eyes peeled for items that remind him of Bucky. He does find the underwear Darcy's talking about and adds it to the cart. Just to be cheeky, he jokingly adds a red lace thong in what he'd suspect to be Bucky's size to the cart. Bucky's got a nice ass - no shame in showing it off.

Steve pursues the website and moves onto several more with no luck before asking the same question again. Underwear can't be the _only_ thing he has to present a man who told him he loves him.

"Shoes," she answers without hesitation, switching positions to get comfortable again. "I know that's what I'd want."

Bucky had this sensible rock star style to him, so hopefully he'll like the black Doc Martin boots Steve adds to his virtual cart. "What else?" He asks, unsure and gnawing on his bottom lip. There's an empty space in his lower stomach that's urging him that something's missing and that Bucky might need more. Darcy finally glances up at Steve from her monitor with scrunched eyebrows and poked out lips.

"Don't go broke trying to impress him," she advises cutely and looks back to her laptop when Steve's expression doesn't change and she sees he's entirely seriously about splurging on Bucky.

"Not trying to _impress_ him," he corrects her. "Just like spoiling him. _What else_?"

"Um," she vocalizes in thought, tapping her chin. "Any movies he likes that he doesn't have on DVD?"

That makes Steve scoff and laugh lovingly. "Fucker owns every _Disney_ movie ever made."

"Take him to Disneyworld," she shrugs.

That actually doesn't sound like such a far fetched idea. He keeps it tucked away for now and adds various things to the cart like another pair of shoes, sweaters, and cologne. After checking out, the emptiness gets a tad smaller, but it _doesn't_ disappear.

Feeling defeated, he tries recalling things Bucky likes. He doesn't need another guitar, and Steve has no idea or expertise in the kind to get even if he did. A record player would be cute, but Bucky would probably just laugh at how he's secretly a 90 year old man. Letting out a sigh, he thinks back to last night's drama. Those words Bucky was using like _subspace_ and _Dominant_ were sill ringing in the back of his head, so he takes it upon himself to get himself educated.

First he searches subspace on Google which leads to Topspace and onto Doms and subs. The information he takes in is almost startling and downright disturbing till he realizes that the behaviors and techniques these people on the forums and websites he's reading are just like he and Bucky. Naturally, he's relieved that he's not sick for thinking of Bucky the way he does, but it doesn't undo how shitty he felt for being so mean to Bucky yesterday. He apologizes a thousand and some times this morning when Bucky could barely move because Steve'd forgotten to do aftercare.

The more he reads on and absorbs, the more comfortable he is. Granted, he's not sure if this type of thing is particularly healthy and maybe it's borderline wrong and obsessive. This lifestyle of BDSM can go way beyond a kink, and one of them could get hurt if they're not careful.

He only feels uncomfortable when he finds himself accepting that this is _exactly_ what he wants with Bucky. He just doesn't trust himself enough to do so yet.

Going through these websites leads him to a sex shop. Shaken, he glances quickly at Darcy at the other end of the couch occupied by her own shopping and then back at his laptop screen.

There's whips, chains, ball gags, _butt_ _plugs_... The list goes on as he examines all the merchandise with sweaty hands and tightening pants. The idea of getting Bucky in any of this is exhilarating and fucking filthy - it'd be Steve's greatest pleasure in indulging with any of this stuff involved. He considers suggesting it to Bucky, but maybe the last thing Bucky wanted to try at home was the same things he does with other men when he leaves to work. There's no way in hell that of all the clients Bucky's had that none of them ever got the same ideas Steve has in his head right now. It's a discouraging thought, and Steve almost leaves the website till _something_ catches his eye at the bottom of the page.

It's black leather and simple, the collar. It's even got a little metal tag in the front for a name.

Steve swallows.

This certainly isn't the kind of thing you get for a human, is it? That's degrading to the highest degree, and yet Steve finds himself hard as a rock thinking about the thing snug tight against Bucky's throat with the little silver tag reading '_Steve's baby boy_.'

_Why_ did that turn him on?

Is it because Steve's possessive as fuck and since he physically can't be there to claim his Bucky when he's with his clients, he needs the collar as a symbol to remind those losers just who the fuck this man belongs to? Regardless of what they pay, they need to be reminded that _Bucky is his._

Steve doesn't mean to get himself hot and bothered at the thought of it. He bookmarks the page and leaves the website.

To calm himself, he makes small talk with Darcy till his erection subsides. She's almost done her shopping and distract him well with her chipper babbling enough to get less excited. It doesn't get him to stop thinking about the collar though.

Bucky probably wouldn't like the thing anyway.


	15. 15

The sun rays gracing Bucky's sleeping face through the blinds on the window is the first thing Steve has the pleasure of seeing when he awakes the first of December.

He's on his back, and his body is strewn carelessly across the expanse of his mattress with one arm hanging off the edge of the bed while the other is cradling Steve's head and his legs are in a shape of a four beneath the thick comforter. His bare chest is rising up and down peacefully as his nostrils expand and tighten within rhythm of his breathing. Steve counts up to a thousand breaths before easing towards his sleeping form and kissing his cheek softly.

Bucky wiggles his face away from Steve, scrunches his eyebrows up, and sighs heavily. Undisturbed by the action, he continues to sleep and Steve continues to stare.

"You're _so_ pretty," he states, wondering if Bucky can hear him wherever his mind is. Talking to this guy in his sleep is easily one of Steve's favorite things to do.

Of course, Bucky doesn't respond and involuntarily swings his arm around to join his other arm in holding Steve. The blond curls inward to be within his slumbering embrace. His manages to kiss his neck chastely. "Bucky," he whispers to him and pokes his sides, but he doesn't react. "Bucky, baby," he sings under his breath and holds his boyfriend tighter.

A huff of breath escapes Bucky's mouth and blows right into Steve's face when he groans at the blinding sunlight warming his face.

"My sweet Bucky," Steve says and kisses his neck again.

Half awake, Bucky growls and yawns, putting together his surroundings and drowsily smiling at the man in his arms just as his body, over the span of several seconds, comes back to life. Steve's lips don't stop on his neck nor do they remain on his neck when he climbs upward on Bucky and leaves a trail of wet kisses from his neck to his lips.

Their lips meet for a second till Bucky pushes him off and covers his mouth. "Babe, my breath," he starts off but Steve snatches his hand away and keeps kissing him.

_That's_ one way to say 'I love you.'

With either thigh on each side of Bucky's lithe middle and morning wood aimed upward, Steve's desperate lips don't stop massaging over Bucky's for anything. He purposes presses his ass downward onto Bucky's crotch like he would if he were riding his bike and goes back to his neck.

Bucky laughs and runs his hands along the back insides of Steve's pajama shirt to massage the skin there. "What're you so eager for?"

"Twenty-four days till Christmas," Steve answers, unburying himself from the depth of Bucky's neck to kiss him then look into his tired eyes. "Hi."

"Hi," he says back and retracts one arm from inside Steve's shirt to stroke his cheek. "Good morning."

"G'morning, sweet tart," Steve replies and pecks his face a handful of times despite how hard Bucky's laughing and pushing him off so he can sit up.

"_Sweet tart_? Tis the season for ugly pet names?" He runs a hand through his hair and yawns.

"Shaddup," Steve mutters with no embarrassment at the affection and kisses him on his forehead. "What're you doing today?"

"As if I don't spend literally _every_ second of _every_ day with _you_. Benefits of dating your neighbor."

"Doesn't answer my question, sugar plum."

The grin on Bucky's face grows into a full blown roar of laughter. "Nothing," he replies while his body shakes in the aftermath of the idiotic nicknames coming from Steve's mouth. "Did you wanna do something?"

"Well, not really," he admits and rests his head against Bucky's pectoral. "Did _you_ wanna do something?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

"Shit."

"What?"

"We haven't even been dating two months and we've already run out of shit to do," Steve tells him and flicks his nipple playfully.

"Um, we can go Christmas shopping," Bucky suggests but Steve just frowns and glances up sadly at him.

"I finished all my Christmas shopping."

Bucky sighs. "Same."

"We could decorate your apartment."

Bucky plays with that idea in his head for a moment and nods. "We usually don't 'cus the kid and I leave that week before Christmas, but if you want to we can. You're still coming with us, right?" He asks hopefully, looking down expectantly at Steve with huge, grey eyes.

A trip for Steve is from his apartment to the VA office or his office at S.H.I.E.L.D Bahamas might as well be across the globe being the the farthest he's gone in eight years.

He sighs. "Yeah, I'm going."

Bucky smiles with hearts in his eyes, but he easily senses Steve's hesitation and doesn't try to hide how tense his body gets at what he's asking Steve to do. "If you don't wanna, we can stay here for the holiday. If it'll be too hard -"

"_What_? No, babe," he cuts him off immediately and shuts him up with yet other kiss. "I'm completely fine with going on vacation with my boyfriend and his family to the Bahamas for two weeks."

The way Steve says that leans more on the lines of trying to convince himself more than Bucky. If Bucky had the energy to call him out on it and start a fight, he would. Instead he just glares him up and down in deep concentration with a shit eating grin and a twinkle in his eyes that only appears when he's reading Steve.

Even though it'd kill him to not go to the beach house and frolic on their private beach till New Years, he'd stay in New York and be with Steve if that made his mate most comfortable. He realizes that in inviting Steve to come to the beach house, Steve's crossing a lot of barriers and coming way out of his comfort zone. The least he figures he can do is assure that this is what Steve truly wanted to do. The last thing either of them need is one trying to appease the other.

There's no use in pressing the matter so Bucky half believes him and returns the affection with an innocent peck on Steve's forehead. "I'm gonna get dressed and take Mischka to school. Think you can get breakfast going?"

"Sure," Steve mutters, listening to Bucky's steady heartbeat and trying to focus on whether it'll match his own. "What do you want?"

"A stack of pancakes as thick as your ass, drenched in syrup with six pieces of bacon, a glass of orange juice, three eggs, and a hashbrown deep fried," he says and his tummy rumbles like thunder under Steve's head at the thought of such a fattening meal. "But because we decided to take on skinny bitch lifestyles, just an egg sandwich with that multi grain oatmeal is fine."

Steve nods and kisses along Bucky's abdomen with chaste pecks before climbing off the bed to stretch his tense muscles out and yawn. He could really use one of Bucky's massages.

_Time to start the day._

Bucky swats Steve on his ass with a groggy gay to the bathroom, getting Steve to jump and giggle a little on his way out the bedroom door. Mischka's already at the kitchen table, munching on a bowl of cereal dressed in a red, athletic pullover with a Nike symbol, black jeans, furry boots, and hair in a high ponytail instead of a bun. It'll never not amaze Steve at how self sufficient she is at just six years old. Six year old him would've had to been dragged out of bed, forced to get dressed accordingly, and cry if someone didn't make his cereal.

"Morning, Stevie," she says with a milky smile and an excited wave.

"Good morning, Matilda," he jokes but then shakes his head when she eyes him questionably seeing as she didn't understand his reference. "Mischka," he corrects himself. "Sleep well?"

"Mhm," she hums and scoops another spoonful of the colorful cereal into her mouth. "Merry _almost_ Christmas."

"Same." He washes his hands and retrieves the frying pan from the lower cabinets. "Make your Christmas list, yet?"

"I asked Santa for a dog and new ballet shoes."

"A dog? Don't you think Carter would be a little jealous?" He asks, smiling fondly at the image of his pup dozing lazily on Bucky's couch in the other room.

"It'd be a _boy_ dog," she explains simply. "They'd fall in love, get married, have babies so that you and Daddy can be _brothers_."

Her reasoning is too adorably executed to be corrected so he just nods in agreement with a small smile and turns the front, right burner of the stove on low. "Sounds nice," he says to her and gets eggs, butter and milk from the fridge. "Anything else?"

The little one hutches her shoulders thoughtlessly and downs the remaining, sugar saturated milk within seconds before setting her bowl in the sink. "What'd _you_ ask for?"

"I'm a little too old to ask Santa for anything," he tells her and gets a mixing bowl from the cabinet above him. "Besides, I already have everything I want."

"That's what people who get on the naughty list say when they know they're not gonna get anything," she points out smartly and plays with the end of her ponytail. "But, I don't think you're on the naughty list. You're a good kid, Stevie."

"I try."

"Daddy's on the nice list, too, right?"

"Of course he is. Santa doesn't let anyone go empty handed on Christmas."

"That he does not," Bucky announces, swaggering into the kitchen with his face washed of any signs of sleep, in street clothes, smelling of aftershave. The scent of it invaded Steve's senses for a hot second when he plants a quick, hard kiss to Steve's cheek and smacks his ass again. "Look at _my_ little housewife cooking me breakfast."

"Not in front of the kid," Steve murmurs with bored passion, too used to this to even be embarrassed and way passed caring to censor their relationship given what'd happened when she heard them last Thursday. The kid doesn't know what sex is just yet, but she's getting a pretty nifty idea that Steve and her dad are too far gone to _ever_ be brothers as she'd hoped.

"Yeah, not in front of the kid," she parrots and rushes over to Bucky on the tips of her toes to give him a kiss. He bends forward and just as she's setting her lips on his cheek, he swiftly turns his head so that their lips touch.

"Morning, Daddy," she says sweetly and clings to his pant leg as he get runs fingers through her ponytail and gets the orange juice out.

"Gud'morning, rugrat," he responds lovingly and drinks straight from the carton. Steve cracks three eggs in the mixing bowl, discards the shells down the garbage disposal, starts to whisk all while hiding a smile to himself at how disgustingly cute those two are. Seeing them interact so easily and domestically towards another is a quicks reminder that they're _not_ his to claim as his own family. His confident smile fades just as quickly as it appeared, but he doesn't let Bucky nor Mischka see it.

"Ready to go?" Bucky asks her and tosses her pink winter coat for her to catch from the coat closet.

"Yes, Daddy," she says, zips her coat up, and gives Steve's legs a hug before joining her dad in the front room. He's putting a leash on wide awake, happy Carter and blowing Steve a kiss.

"I'll be back in a few," he says and holds the door open for his daughter when she gets her backpack on. Steve waves back weakly and catches the kiss before the three of them disappear and leave Steve to cook.

He didn't expect his mood to shift _so suddenly_. Kinda unfair how the cheery, lightheartedness of waking up in his best guy's apartment and cooking him breakfast twenty four days before the best holiday of all time can quickly turn into the most depressing thing ever.

The oatmeal is halfway done when Steve decides to get the eggs cooking in the frying pan on the lowest setting. With a heavy sigh, he decides that this morning doesn't have to be spoiled. The second Bucky comes back, he'll see right through Steve's facade and demand to know what's wrong till their food gets cold, and that's the farthest thing from the chain of events Steve hopes that occur today. To lighten his mood up, he goes into the living room and clicks on the stereo aside the TV.

As any musician's would be, Bucky's music collection is huge. Along with the albums placed respectfully in the CD holder stand, there's a whole crate full of albums that are over flowing on each other and out the sides of the crate. It's a fair chance Bucky has at least _one_ Christmas album somewhere in the pile.

"_No, no, no_," Steve's saying under his breath at every album he takes out and looks at. There's quite a bit of Eminem's albums in here that look like it's been worn out with scratches on the back of every disk, unfit for use ever again along with country albums Steve is surprised to see. _Disney_ soundtrack albums outnumber any other genre he finds. With no luck and his mood deteriorating, he puts all the cases back into the crate and heads to the bedroom to check in the cabinets of Bucky's entertainment center.

_Disney_ film after _Disney_ film flash in his face with no sign of a Christmas album anywhere. Ultimately this frustrates him and his baby blues are rolling to the ceiling at how he probably didn't have one lying around his apartment either. He's never had to buy one since most of his Christmases are spent just like any other day of the year - alone. Any music he can require is probably still tucked away in his storage unit with the rest of Sarah's belongings.

The closest thing he finds to an album is the _Mickey's Twice Upon a Christmas_ DVD that'll suffice till he goes out to the storage unit or shopping. Just as he's setting all the DVD's back in their chronological order as Bucky'd had them, he notices a thick, black, tattered notebook laying behind the columns of DVD's looking out of place and kinda lonely amongst all the distracting, colorful DVD covers.

Steve flashes the light from his cell phone into the cabinet to get a better look and squints at the notebook for a second or two before realizing that's Bucky's song book. He'd been complaining about misplacing it just last week when Becca and Wade were visiting.

"_That's_ where you've been hiding." He makes a _tsk_ sound with his teeth as though to chide the notebook for running away. "Your daddy's been looking everywhere for you."

It's a petite thing, worn out much like the Eminem disks with torn, ruffled sheet of paper, rips in the cover, loose neon Post-It notes curling at their edges, pen marks and the like. It must hold sentimental value to Bucky - it's appearance shows it's been through the wringer and holds just as much emotion in it's binding as the men who wrote the songs within. For fun, Steve sits Indian style with the book in his lap and reads over each song like it's a story he's never been told. Some songs he recognizes, other's he's not so familiar with, and some have him laughing at the silly attempts to rhyme '_orange_' with '_floorage_' which is most certainly not a real word.

Steve's calloused fingers run over the dents in the words pressed to the overused sheets of paper, fascinated that he can tell which songs had most meaning judging by how hard they'd been scribed. He finds two other versions of "Home" that are inferior to the final one on the next page. There's eraser marks and revisions in red pen all over the page, almost impossible to make out what's there expect for a few stray, recognizable lyrics on the edges.

The tail end of the book is approaching with ten sheets left, and it would be safe to assume there's nothing left to see in the book till Steve flips once more and his eyebrows draw together, perplexed and a tinge bit excited at the blank sheet before him with _Stevie_ written in black marker on an orange Post-It.

Upon seeing his name, Steve's first instinct is to look frantically around the room like he'd been caught even though he's the only one in the apartment. Coming to the realization that Bucky deemed Steve worthy of an entire section in his song book is what makes this real and suddenly remember snooping through Bucky's belongings was an invasion of privacy, boyfriend or not.

The only reason he pried was due to assumptions justified by the open nature of he and Bucky's relationship. Never having established a sense of _'what's mine is mine don't touch my shit,_' he figured he had access to this sorta thing.

But he _doesn't_.

Even before becoming official, they'd acquired the other's apartment as their own and never asked permission to do anything in terms of borrowing clothes and such.

That's _different_, maybe.

Going through someone's apartment wasn't the same as snooping through their highly personal notebook of songs documenting hardships and hidden sentiments. Even though no harm's done, these are Bucky's feelings and emotions, and Steve just infiltrated them like they were his own.

The moral thing to do is to just put the book down, forget he found it, and let whatever's written behind his name come out with time Bucky's terms.

It's pure guilt that gets Steve to shut the book and curiosity that gets him to open it just once more to be sure before closing it again and texting Bucky to say he'd found it.

Bucky returns five minutes later with a miniature, electric, rotating Christmas tree he snagged from a tiny holiday shop on the way back from the school. It fit perfectly on the piano and shone in disco like fashion as it rotated and jingled with ever turn it made. It was a sweet gesture, and it makes Steve smile through breakfast and the movie, song book barely forgotten.

And even though it's a _Disney_ movie they're watching, it doesn't sway Bucky any less from climbing in Steve's lap and distracting him from watching it just like any other time of the year.

* * *

Steve literally has no idea what the fuck he's doing.

Well, he has a _mission_.

Being the diligent, determined soldier he is, he complete missions no matter how embarrassing, uncomfortable, stupid, and oddball they may be, even if he assigned them to himself.

He sighs at particularly nothing, regretting that his curiosity got the better of him and actually lied to Bucky, telling him he was going into the office for a board meeting and that's why he couldn't meet him for lunch after band practice when in reality, the blond is balancing himself on Peggy, staring blankly at the sex shop across the street from where he's parked.

Today's mission was getting something kinky to surprise Bucky for Christmas.

Darcy would've been the perfect companion to assist him in such a mission, but Steve's cheeks are red with arousal and childish embarrassment just from being thirty feet from the shop, and to have Darcy of all people with him would've probably killed him.

Besides, this is between he and Bucky. This is their sex life - _not hers_. She'd be a huge help, but when it comes down to it, Steve is a big boy who shouldn't need help in picking out a sexy gift both he and Steve like. No one knows Bucky's flavor better than him. He doesn't need assistance period, especially when it comes to sex. He's no expert, but he's not ignorant towards the kinky shit that's inside of there.

He pats down his winter coat pocket to make sure he has his wallet before he swings his left leg across Peggy and crosses the street to enter the quaint shop that had the name, _Sugar Baby_, flashing classically in red, neon lights. Steve tried really hard not to laugh at the name when he'd first looked it up online, but the laughs didn't last long when Steve looked up the definition of a '_sugar baby_' and then that led to '_sugar daddy_.' Those discoveries left his cock questionably hard and his wallet crying to be emptied.

Once Steve was able to get passed the half-naked mannequins in the window, he enters the store and the aroma of perfume and plastic hits him harder than desired, instantly making him cough and breathe sharply through his nose in shock at what he sees.

_Looks like we're off to a fresh start,_ he figures after a moment when his body attempts to get acclimated to its surroundings. Just as he'd imagined a sex shop to be on a Wednesday afternoon, it's empty, leaving just him, a lot of dildos, and a bored clerk behind the cashier counter who didn't bother to greet Steve when he walked in.

He sighs again, scanning the store in wonder. As intrigued as he is, he can honestly tell based on the merchandise he sees hanging around him and the contrast thought of_ 'how the fuck does that even work?_' at just about everything here that he's truly out of his depth. Where does one start in a store of such..._variety_? It's almost overwhelming to have so much to choose from and being impeccably clueless as to what the hell he even came in here for. Bucky's a kinky motherfucker and there's not a lot of stuff he hasn't seen given his "profession," - that word is used_ as loose as possible_ \- so none of this would surprise him if Steve presented it to him Christmas morning.

_That's_ a little intimidating. While Bucky is younger, he's got miles of experience on Steve in this department. Certainly it'd be a lot of fun to shop for playtime together so everything's agreed upon and consensual at that moment in time versus Steve springing it upon him because he assumed Bucky'd like it when he bought it.

As much as Steve would love to call him up right now and tell him to get his ass down here pronto to help with picking out a gift, he doesn't. He's set this mission for himself, and he's going to fulfill it. Not only will he fulfill it, but he'll make sure the receiving party approves. There's not much Bucky doesn't go for, but there's much they haven't discussed in terms of what he'd allow Steve to do to him.

Examining the merchandise with lost eyes, Steve sighs a third, dramatic time and wills himself to think of what Bucky would like. It's a little awkward to just stand there by the door, so he drifts around the store in a circle, starting at the front of the shop where the merchandise is less graphic like lube and condoms. Steve picks up each, tosses them in a shopping basket, and pursues the aisles with an open mind.

For the most part, he encounters appalling amounts of leather whether it be for riding crops, body suits, whips... The more sentimental, Captain America side of him sympathizes with all the cows who were slaughtered in the name of freaky ass human beings. If cows had emotions, he's pretty sure they'd cry to find out their kind die to either be hamburgers or the shit he's looking at right now.

"Moo," he utters under his breath with a chuckle when he takes one of the crops off of their rack and examines it. It smells kinda nice, actually. It's pretty rich. Bucky wouldn't mind something like this, but Steve puts it back anyway when he tests it on his thigh and winces. He's not ready for that just yet, but he tucks the thought away for later.

The deeper he gets into the shop determines the level of freaky shit he sees. He neglects a lot of the ridiculous BDSM merchandise he sees that makes him slightly uncomfortable like ball gags. All he can picture is Bucky choking on it and that's the least thing he wants.

There's other stuff that excited him like multicolored dildos that he almost picks up but doesn't. Steve can't seem to find the thrill of that when they've both already got two fully functioning penises between them. The themed vibrators seem cool and freeing, but none of them scream 'Bucky.' There's no alarms going off in Steve head that any of this would be acceptable Christmas gifts.

Steve scans up and down the aisles, ever so gently running his figures curiously across the items on the shelves. Anal beads, floggers, and paddles catch his eye for a split second before he remembers something Bucky'd said the next they first had sex.

_"Spankings are fun."_

Been there, done that - it'll be a _while_ before he does it _again_. The extent of that kinda thing will probably be a little pat or two when he's humping Bucky from the back. An actual spanking session will take a little more time to get comfortable with.

_"Being lifted off the ground is, too."_

Steve nods to himself. Been there and done it that night.

_"Shit, I like using food sometimes."_

That was a failed attempt, and Steve doubt he could take Bucky seriously if he ever dropped his pants to reveal he had on an edible thing. Steve would probably die of laughter, eat the candy underwear, and fall asleep.

Steve only remember the orgasm denial suggestion when he passes by a rack of cock rings and chastity lock cages. They look absolutely torturous, so Steve just shakes his head at them and keeps cruising.

In the process of shopping around, he picks up two, whimsical, miniature dick shaped lollipops for fun along with a black, satin blindfold. He remembers a fleeting something of a thought he'd had about tying Bucky up, so he picks out bed restraints and adds those to his basket as well. His hand hovers over a red, remote controlled vibrating anal plug in frivolous, plastic packaging for a minute till he throws caution to the wind and puts it in the basket with a low "Fuck it." _That's_ something he'd like to try for _himself_.

Most of this stuff would be cute to try on Bucky. There'r not necessarily Christmas gifts, though. The store had a nice variety of Christmas merchandise, but none of it seemed gift worthy. Worthy of Bucky, anyway.

It's when he passes by costumes hung high at the top shelves does he remember something else.

_"Maybe role-playing."_

Before he can think to write it off, Steve considers it. That's one other thing Bucky'd mention that they haven't tried yet. It hadn't been an initial thought going into the shop since between he and Bucky, they're much too silly to carry out a scene of role playing especially if there's costumes involved. To be honest, Steve wouldn't be able to keep a straight face if Bucky were to dress up in a Catholic school boy costume and pretend to lure Steve into giving him a good grade in exchange for a blowjob under his teacher's desk. Then maybe he could spank his pretty ass red with a ruler at detention for misbehaving during class and take him over the desk, plunging the life out of his bad student, _only rewarding him with an orgasm if he promises to be a good little Catholic boy..._

Steve's groan starts in the back of his throat and escapes with an echo in the empty store.

Okay, so _maybe_ the idea isn't too ridiculous to at least look at the costumes available.

There's a cop and prisoner one that comes with handcuffs. It's tasteful, but not he and Bucky's style. There's a schoolgirl outfit that wouldn't fit Bucky even if he'd been interested in buying it. He shuffles through the costumes till he comes across some that are Christmas themed.

The Santa costume consists of bright, cherry red velvet, loose fitting pants and robe, a black belt with a novelty gold buckle, a matching hat with fluffy, white trim. Without even having to think about it, he searches of a costume in his size. The model in the front wearing the costume wears the robe open, exposing his front which mean if Steve wants to pull this off, he needs to hit the gym sometime this week - maybe a little cardio at home - and resist the endless buffet of holiday cookies invading the city for the season.

The Naughty Elf accessory costume surprisingly wasn't too embarrassing. In fact it was kinda cute - green, velvet boxer type shorts with the same white, fluffy trim as the hat it comes with. There's detachable overall straps the same color as the shorts, and Steve can already imagine how precious Bucky'd look in this. In fact, he laughs a little and finds a costume that'll fit Bucky.

_This should be fun._

On his way to the register, he passes by the leather aisle again and before he can make it out before the smell fogs his senses, he stops and zeroes in on _the collars._

There's quite a category.

Most of them are leather, but some consist of different colors, spikes, designs etched into them, or even bells. Steve remembers the one he'd seen on that sex shop website. His mouth waters a little at what Bucky'd look like wearing one of these; obviously _fucking gorgeous,_ but it's delectable to think of him wearing it _outside_ the bedroom like when they're watching a movie or at the gym, and not even to be mean anything sexual. It's just as a reminder to fucking everyone that Bucky's _his_ and no one's allowed to _touch_ or _mess with_ what's _his_.

_That's_ a pretty far off thought. The last thing either men needed was Mischka asking why her Daddy and Carter wear the same jewelry.

He touches all of them, breathing heavy at the heel and how it'd feel against the soft canvas of skin of Bucky's neck or how the tag would jingle every time he moves.

One in particular catches Steve's attention.

It's simple: dark brown leather with a heart shaped tag dangling where the front of neck would be. It's _beautiful_. It's so _Bucky_.

_But would he like it?_

There's only _one_ left of the kind he'd picked out. Maybe that's a sign.

Without even thinking, Steve tosses the collar into the basket and heads for the register. The total is hefty, but Steve's blind to it and doesn't even think about the price tag when the employee ogles him and puts his purchases in a bag. When Steve arrives back to his apartment, he sets aside everything except the costumes, lube, and condoms and puts them in his suitcase for the trip. Taking his sweet time, he wraps up all the other remaining toys and puts them behind a pair of shoes in his walk-in closet to be revealed in the privacy of his apartment the night before they leave for the Bahamas.

The collar is the only thing that stays unwrapped. Steve stares down at it, in awe of himself that he'd actually bought it. "Let's hope for the best," he says to himself, tucks the toy safely away in his underwear drawer.

* * *

That Thursday, Steve ends up back in his comfort zone: the gym.

He's planning on being here every day this week till it's time to wear that costume. He is damn determined to look as hot as he can for Bucky and partially for himself.

The only downside to coming to the gym today was that he'd misplaced his phone with all his music on it -including his gym playlist - the night before. Bucky with a huge smirk on his face gladly gave him his phone and earphones, and that's why Steve's been lifting weights to Beyonće for the past half an hour.

Searching through Bucky's digital music library was a little bit more interesting than his physical albums considering Bucky's has a playlist entitled _"Boss Bitch"_ that consists of mainly female artists of the pop genre fighting for the good word of feminism over overproduced beats and catchy lyrics. It only got funnier when Bucky told him this is what he listens to get himself in a hustling mindset when he's on his way to a client.

Once Steve got passed that, he ends up thoroughly enjoying the playlist and can only picture the suave, cunning, character mastermind side of Bucky strutting with confidence to the door of whatever customer and sucking him dry - _literally_ and _figuratively -_ in terms of his bank account. It doesn't make him feel any less comfortable with the whole ordeal, but as long as Bucky's okay then he can at least pretend to be.

Although the vanity and Bucky are reasons alone that Steve's begun to come back to the gym, Bucky's job plays a big enough role, too.

To be honest, it stresses Steve out. Maybe that sounds selfish - Steve hates himself for how it does - but he can't help that seeing Bucky in the state he's in when he returns from a client pushes all his buttons and tenses his whole attitude up. As rare as those are, on days when he and Bucky are apart, he lights candles in his apartment to relax him and drinks lots of tea so that he doesn't lapse into a nervous breakdown with how much he worries for Bucky's safety. At first he though the stress was all in his head until he started getting the headaches and sniff necks on nights when Bucky's working.

Not only does it stress him out, it _angers_ him.

Well, the idea of it isn't as infuriating as it had been before, but it doesn't deter Steve from hating literally every single person Bucky goes out to see, no matter how well or bad they'd treated his boy. Every time Bucky comes home upset or unsatisfied with himself from a client, there's this everlasting urge that Steve has just pulsing underneath his skin and deep in his muscles that makes him wanna ask for the client's address and pound their face into the dirt.

Upon that, Bucky refuses to let Steve take him to and from the meetings no matter how much he begs because he knows Steve and he knows he'll end up barging into the hotel room or whatever they are to strangle his customer. Steve supposed it's for the best, not regarding Buck's safety. Taking Bucky to and from the meetings would only make him feel like he's _condoning_ this. Like he's practically gift wrapping his boy up and delivering it to whatever sick fuck rich enough for Bucky's feigned affection and saying with a dumb ass grin '_here take care of him and give him back when you're done.' _That thought only makes him run faster on the treadmill and hit harder into the punching bag. The stone cold, unhappy, not-to-be-fucked-with look on his wet and flushed face would never reveal he's listening to "Single Ladies."

He's on his second set at the weights benching more than what he usually does, drenched in his own sweat when the song in his earphones momentarily silences and a vibrate and a high pitch _bing_ takes its place for a hot second before returning back to the song.

Steve pulls the phone from his basketball shorts and glances at the notification, momentarily forgetting this is Bucky's phone and rolling his eyes in restrained frustration when Brock Rumlow's name pops up. He doesn't even bother reading the message since it's not his business nor in his schedule to entertain whatever the hell this guy - the biggest fuck boy of them all - has to say to _his_ boyfriend.

Through huffed, heavy pants Steve finishes the set and wipes the bench down with he disinfectant spray and paper towels propped on a nearby wall.

During his cool down, the phone twice vibrates again. He may not know the dickhead but based on what he's seen, he can tell Brock's the persistent, entitled type that doesn't take no for an answer when he deems himself worthy. The fact that Bucky stood this guy for as long as he did should earn him a gold star. Steve told himself he wouldn't get possessive over Bucky when it came to his work and it's only happened once where he did so, but Steve has no issue telling Bucky to stop seeing Brock. He realizes that makes him sound like a controlling asshole, but that seems to be Bucky's type.

When he'd gotten to the locker room to shower and change to meet Sam for lunch, the phone had gone off a total of _five_ times. Frustrated and with a fuck all attitude to Bucky's privacy - it's a matter of safety this time around and with the truth of his work out, this isn't the _first_ time Bucky's so freely let Steve have access to his phone - he whips the phone out of his pocket to see just what the fuck the fucker wants.

When he looks at the screen, There's four messages from Brock and one from himself. He opens that one first.

_**My Stevie:** it's B... I found your phone_

Steve types back quickly with his shirt halfway off his body and around his neck.

_nice... Where was it?_

_**My Stevie:** in between my sofa cushions_

Steve nods and begins to respond, completely shirtless now.

_hey you wanna tell your little boyfriend to chill on the text messages? Can he not just text once and wait like the rest of your hoes ?_

Steve imagines Bucky laughing a hearty laugh with his eyes squinted shut and crinkling, head thrown back.

_**My Stevie:** sorry babe can't help he's lonely around the holidays lol_

_let me play a song for him on the world's smallest violin_

Bucky sends a line of laughing emojis next.

**_My Stevie: _**_what'd he even say?_

He takes that as permission to look. With a swipe of his thumb, he exits out of that conversation and opens the unread texts from Brock.

**_BROCK RUMLOW: _**_sweetie r u still coming over tomorrw?_

_**BROCK RUMLOW:** don't go ignoring me now_

_**BROCK RUMLOW:** don't have the patience for you to be doing this to me answer now_

_**BROCK RUMLOW:**__ i got a fat stack of Benjamin's with your name on it sweetie_

Steve swallows a huge lump and scrolls upwards to see that their last interaction was just a month ago. He reads through some of those and as much as he fucking hates Brock, he sarcastically applauds him on his persistence even though Bucky's mentions multiple times in their conversations that he literally has _no_ interest in wanting him back and that this is just _business_. There's a conversation dating three weeks ago that starting with Brock texting Bucky:

**_BROCK RUMLOW: _**_oh, come on babe i see it in your eyes every time u ride my dick how badly u want me back ... Don't see why u gotta be so complicated when we both know this is what u want right? Let's just give it another go :)_

To which Bucky would respond with:

_what u see in my eyes every time I ride that thing u call a dick is an academy award for best lead male performance_

_literally there's nothing on this earth that could ever make me so desperate to want u again_

_stop_

Steve hadn't seen such a backbone on Bucky before reading that. He keeps scrolling and a sideways smile forms on his face at how proud he is of his boy. It must've taken longer than usual for Steve to reply because the phone beeps with another message from himself.

_**My Stevie:** I'm sorry babe I really am :( Pls don't hate me_

Bucky's probably pouting now.

_could never hate you... I hate him._

_**My Stevie:** yeah he's a pretty shitty person but he pays the bills_

Steve isn't sure how to come back with that. His smile falls. As strong as Bucky is fending off Brock's advances to picking up where they left off in their "relationship," the lone thought of Bucky financially depending on him makes Steve's stomach churn.

Another text comes in when Steve doesn't respond.

_**My Stevie: **Mad at me?_

He reads it over a few times before setting the phone down and opening his locker to get his body wash, towel, and wash rag for a shower.

_no I'm not mad...at you._

_**My Stevie:** I guess that's a little bit better?_

_**My Stevie:** hey when r u gonna be home? I kinda wanna do something to make it up to u_

Steve's eyebrows rise as he leans on the lockers out of the way of other gym members and texts back.

_u don't have anything to make up for. It's fine , everything's ok_

_**My Stevie:** nothing is ok about Brock_

At that moment, Steve just wants to call him and tell him he's _not_ allowed to see Brock again. There's no question of 'if' or 'but.' There's no compromises being made. There's no asking if he can stop seeing him - it's a _command_. A direct order. He doesn't have the patience for technicalities and pleading. He can hear the conversation now.

_"You're not allowed to see Brock Rumlow again. I don't care how much he pays. You don't go near him or talk to him. Understand me, baby boy?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Yes, what?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

Sadly, Steve doesn't have that kind of control. All he wants is to protect Bucky like he'd promised, but how is he supposed to do that if he has no control? If he starts bosses Bucky around with who he can and can't see, he might as well be his pimp.

That's how receiving that watch made him feel. It came from a nice place in Bucky's heart, but Steve didn't want a dime from any of them.

_**My Stevie:** whenever u get home I'll make it up to you okay? Tell Sam I said hi!_

It's so hard to get mad at Bucky when he's so in love. Even _before_ they began dating, he'd promise to do his best in being whatever Steve needed of him as well as trying to be himself. He's made himself destined to please Steve in the process of being a better version of himself. For so long, he's been programmed to please others and yield to what he thinks is comfort when it's really manipulation and selfishness. Now he's found something _real_ \- something he can dedicate his whole, submissive, little heart to. No wonder he tries_ so hard;_ he doesn't want a repeat of Xavier or Brock. No wonder he's so harsh on himself; he's trying so hard to redeem for what'd happened in the past. He really is.

That's why it kills Steve when he catches himself getting sour with Bucky. He doesn't wanna get mad at him every time he leaves to see a client, especially when he's explicitly told Steve _it doesn't mean a damn thing_ except a couple hundred dollars. But he does.

Maybe he's just too _insecure_ to be with Bucky. It's crossed his mind more times than he can hope to imagine that one day he'll lose himself and do something he swear he wouldn't because he can't tolerate sharing Bucky any longer. He could kill a guy, kill _himself_, or break up with Bucky... It seems simpler to just tell Bucky to get another job so Steve can sleep at night, but Steve's the most selfless person ever. Changing Bucky will only have the man resent him - it'd be just exactly what Xavier and Brock did.

Sharing his lover is something he's already done in the past. It hurt like hell - like being set on fire and ran over by an eighteen wheeler - and he doesn't wanna repeat it but...

He has to.

He loves Bucky too much to let him go. Losing Bucky because he's just jealous and is incapable of letting himself believe that Bucky doesn't love his clients like he loves Steve would be the stupidest thing he'd ever do.

It's basically history repeating itself, though, and_ that's what really irks Steve._

That's why Steve just can't will himself to tell Bucky he loves him. If he does, it become too realistic. It'll feel redundant. The second he says it back, he'll doubt himself and immediately believe Bucky's gonna fall in love with someone else the way Peggy fell in love with Gabe. It'll be passionate, behind his back, and hurtful.

Maybe he'll get a baby out of it like Peggy did, too.

Steve swallows and another notification knocks him out of his trance.

**My Stevie:** _are u sure ur not mad at me?_

_Sweetie I'm not mad at you. I never was. Just be ready for me to take care of u when I get home later ;)_

_**My Stevie:** yes sir_

And for just a moment, Steve's anxiety about where he stands with Bucky doesn't take over.

_He loves you so fucking much. Stop doubting him, Rogers,_ his brain's telling him.

_Good boy ;)_

It'll bother him, but bringing up the job situation again wasn't ideal at this point in their relationship - not when it's so close to their two month anniversary and Christmas vacation. For once, however, it doesn't consume him, and he ends up smiling sadly before putting Bucky's phone in his locker under his change of clothes and heading towards the shower stalls.

* * *

"So, how's your Bucky bear?"

Steve's eyes flick up to shoot Sam a glare, but the other man is smirking down at his cheeseburger like it's entirely normal for him to use that nickname.

"Ha-ha," Steve replies sarcastically and chews on his French fry. "He's fine, if you must know. Not gonna ask how I am? Haven't seen you in a bit."

"I don't have to ask how you are when your boy literally talks about _you_ for fifty-nine minutes out of an hour long private session," he quips, leaning forward to point a wagging finger at Steve. "You're good?"

"For the most part," he says shyly, half a smile forming on his reddening face. "We're pretty happy."

"I'm happy for you. Nice you finally made your way back into the world. He tells me you guys are headed to the Bahamas for the holiday."

Steve takes a juicy bite of his burger. "Family's got a mansion out there on a private beach," he informs his best friend through the mouthful of beef then wipes his mouth.

"Lucky bastard," Sam mutters under his breath humorously and sips his milkshake only to bitterly add. "I'm sure Maria's southern, old school grandmother's gonna enjoy her bringing a black guy home for Christmas."

Steve frowns. "The world's changing, Sam."

"Hopefully the people in it can, too," Sam says back with a tight smile and a sole shoulder shrug. "By the way, he told me about your anxiety attack, so _don't_ think you're gonna get by and not talk to me about it."

Steve sighs. He suspected this would come up. "Did he tell you he said the 'L' word, too?"

"Don't try and change the subject, Rogers. But, _yes_, he did. Along with _you_ _not saying it back,_" Sam adds suspiciously and leans back onto his side of the booth with crossed arms. "Which I'm finding a bit off since you love the hell outta that man."

He shyly ducks his head downward to his food like the dead cow and potatoes would offer answers. Sam heeds his hesitant body language and speaks up again.

"Or am I wrong?" He doesn't sound like he's admitting misassumption because even though Steve's never told him, Sam knows him better than anyone and he knows this golden retriever of a best friend loves Bucky more than he could fucking ever love anyone.

As much as he'd like to, he can't bullshit Sam. With as much exasperation he can fake, he answers the question as real as he can without sounding corny. "I do love the hell out of him," he admits, mimicking the same tone as Sam.

"No shit. Why can't you tell him that?"

Steve doesn't miss how he'd said '_can't_' instead of 'won't' or 'haven't.'

"It's not that I don't want to. I do. I really do, but I'm a little scared. Saying it back will make it real. _Too_ real."

"Considering you've been living in the new relationship, honeymoon, fantasy, dream land all this time," he offers and takes a bite of his burger. "Actually saying those three, little words makes it all seem present," he adds on after he swallows his bite.

"Basically," Steve nods and picks at his fries. "He almost cried when I didn't say it back. I felt terrible, Sam. I told him I felt the same, but I guess that isn't as nice as actually hearing it."

Sam agrees with a head nod and drinks from his half empty milkshake glass. "But what's wrong with being real? Or as you put it, '_too_ _real_.'"

"Nothing," he says evenly.

"You're making it seem like homeboy proposed to you. C'mon, bruh, there's seven billion people on Earth, and some of them live their whole life, lonely and depressed because they never found their other half. _You_ have. Take advantages of that. It's nothing to be scared of. Making it real is the fun part."

As always, the man is right. Steve shakes his head 'yes' in understanding, but not in agreement.

"Hey, man, and think of it like this," he continues and gathers the excess of the milkshake to the bottom of the glass with his straw, "you've only been together two months and you already know you love each other. That's a blessing. You don't wanna be those couples that wait a whole year before they even think to feel that way for another person. Sounds to me like y'all fit each other just nicely and you figured it out pretty early."

"Sam," he breathes and chuckles humorously. "It's not _that_ easy. While I do love him and I'd do anything for him, I just don't know if I can say it just yet. _Telling_ him is one thing. But _saying_ it freaks me the fuck out. I remember the last time I told someone I loved them for the first time. Didn't end too well."

Sam's not dumb - he understands what Steve's alluding to. His face softens.

"Steve, you said you saw her a few weeks ago, right? You got your closure?"

"Yeah," he exhales.

"If you're over it, what does she have to do with anything? Why is _she_ holding you back?"

"She's _not_ holding me back," he disagrees stubbornly and Sam purses his lips and narrows his eyes sassily.

"Is that why you named your dog after her?"

"Coming from the guy who _gave me the dog_ and didn't pick a name for her."

"Also coming from the guy who drives a car and _not_ the motorcycle his ex-girlfriend gave him. Oh,_ that's right_ \- said motorcycle is named after ex-girlfriend."

Steve's lips tighten. He's got him there.

"But you're over her. She's not holding you back_ at all_," Sam continues with raised, surrendering hands and bats his long lashes at him.

"Okay, yeah," Steve gives up when he can't think of a counter argument. "But that stuff doesn't mean anything." That's such a lie, and they both know it.

Sam's chocolate brown eyes roll dramatically now as he grins stupidly at Steve. "Until you're honest with yourself and you admit that you're not over Peggy and what she did, you're _always_ gonna be afraid. If you don't let it go, you're _never_ gonna tell James you love him. That's the basic, bottom line."

Forgiving her is something he can do. Forgetting and letting go has been eight years in the making. If he hasn't done it by now, will he ever? Steve doesn't wanna hold that in anymore. As much as he'd love to call Peggy up and tell her that he's still in so much pain, he can't. He won't. She's let it go. Why can't he?

If he can't do it for himself, he can at least do it for Bucky. That's what he'd promised he'd do.

_"...An opportunity to, shit, I don't know, love properly. Be who I wanna be with you. Fully be me and not regret a damn thing because I'm not scared that you'll do me how she did. .."_

He can't fight thinking that was a lie.

"Fine," he finally surrenders and finishes off his burger. "What's the first step in letting it go?"

Sam almost seems surprised at the question. Steve never backs down. Ever.

"Well, for starters, you're thirty-two years old and you still drive a motorcycle you got for your twenty-first birthday," Sam points out and hearing it aloud makes Steve cringe. "Maybe it's time you sold it or put it storage. Get an actual car and name it after someone who didn't fuck your life up," he advises nonchalantly with a shrug. "Just a suggestion."

As odd as it sounds, parting with Peggy the bike would probably be more painful than parting with her namesake. It's not a _terrible_ idea. He'd have to get a new license and brush up on his driving skills, but that's not much stretch. He'll sacrifice _that_ _much_ for Bucky. It'll hurt, but he could put his bike in storage.

"Okay," says Steve. "_Fine_. Sounds good. One of these days we'll have to take a trip to the car dealership."

A contagious smile hits Sam's mouth, making his strong cheek bones round like an apple and his teeth glistening. "Aw, _that's_ my white boy!" He cheers and fist bumps Steve happily. After the check is paid, Sam and Steve part ways with a promise to meet up again after the holiday. Sam rides home in his car while Steve savors his time on the motorcycle before it's time to give it up.

When Steve arrives at his apartment building, he practically leaps up the stairs to get to Bucky.

He definitely feels a lot better since leaving that morning and to top his mood off, he'll get to spend his night with Bucky. Mischka's at dance practice till the evening, so Steve's got him all to himself.

The skip in his step falters when he reaches the top of the stairs and the overwhelmingly loud bump of a song's bass fills the hall, originating from Steve's apartment. He doesn't remember leaving his music on and if he had, it wouldn't be this loud nor of this genre. He pulls his keys out to unlock the door, but it swings open without much effort when he pushes against it.

Okay, now _that's_ weird. He's never left his music on nor left his door unlocked. The only person who's been here all day is Bucky, but is it really him blasting this music so disturbingly loud, careless leaving his front door open?

When Steve steps inside his apartment, he closes the door behind him to be greeted with the ceiling lights dimmed in the opening room and living area, with the music going harder than it had in the hallway. He resists covering his ears and tunes out the beat as best he can when he turns the setting of the lights up, and gasped with a little jump in his shoulders when the darkness reveals a half naked - in a pair of slippers and Charlie Brown, Christmas pajama pants - sweaty, grinning Bucky who's got his hair in two French braids, nursing one of the Steve's bottles of wine, rhythmically dancing with gyrating hips and bent knees. Carter is on the couch, laying on her back but her head immediately perks up when she hears Steve come through the door.

As soon as the light are on, Bucky's dancing stops, he twirls around in a loose circle, and his whole face lights up at the sight of Steve.

The second he gets a good look at Bucky's loopy expression, dazed eyes, dumb grin, and lackadaisical mannerisms he can tell this kid is _drunk as fuck._

Steve blinks at first, stunned and unsure of how he should go about the situation at hand. It's not as serious as he's first assumed till an unexceptional burst of laughter comes out of him at how out of place Bucky, a white guy, looks dutty-wining and twerking by himself like he's at a night club in Atlanta.

The more Steve laughs, the more mistakenly happy Bucky appears to be as he takes a swig from the bottle before turning the volume down with the stereo's remote control and prancing into Steve's arms. The whiff of wine, beer, and what is possibly vodka hits Steve in the face before Bucky begins to talk. His words barely make a dick worth of sense, and he's starting his sentence over and over till he gives up and just squeals into Steve's skin.

"_Stevie_!" He exclaims, swinging the bottle about carelessly when his arms wrap tightly around Steve's neck. All his weight hangs without finesse onto Steve's body like a deranged koala bear, so the blond grabs him by his middle and balances them both up to avoid tipping over. Bucky takes it as a hug and squeezes.

"Oh, Stevie, you're home?" He adorably says it like it's a question, making Steve chuckle a little more and nod as he tries to keep his drunk boyfriend upright.

Shitfaced is a more accurate description. But, _man_, does he look happy to see Steve.

"Yes, love, I'm home," he says and carries Bucky's limp, alcohol inhabited body over to the sofa, thinking he'll just lay there. Carter scurries away and off into another room to avoid being under him. The younger man pops right back up once Steve turns to turn the stereo off completely.

"N-n-n-no, Stevie, _don't_ change the song!" He slurs loudly, uncooperative with himself as he fast walks crookedly over towards Steve to stop him. His grip is strong and forceful, despite his lack of coordination, and it's enough to actually jerk Steve back and spin to be facing Bucky.

"I _fuckin'_ love this song," he goes on, still holding onto Steve, bottle in hand.

There's something off about how eager and anxious Bucky's being. Steve's baby blues narrows at him to get a read on whatever that something is, but he can't when Bucky's moving around so much and dancing.

"Took yer phone'n put some new music on it... Hope don't mind...no offense, Stevie, but you listen to some whack shit...m'talking whack like -" he pauses, gazes up at the spinning ceiling fan, grunts, and looks beyond Steve at the stereo, "whack like _Shaq_."

At that, he giggles to himself and finally lets Steve's wrist go to puts a hand on his chest. "Shaq!" He exclaims proudly. "Whack like Shaq. _Duuuude_, that rhymes. I sh-should totally be a rapper. What'd my rap name be?"

"Bucky," Steve starts patiently and reaches for the bottle, but Bucky snatches himself and the booze away, blearily glaring at Steve like he'd threatened to take away his favorite toy. Steve draws his hands back to cross them. There's not much left in the bottle, and it won't kill him if he finishes it off. Steve'd rather that than fighting with him for it and hurting themselves with broken glass.

"_Bucky_?" He repeats aloud and shakes his head from side to side wildly. "Nah, bro, 'm not gon' git no type of street cred with _Bucky_ as my rap name. Gimme another _suggesh_-_suggess_-" he stops and looks around. "What's the word fer when you suggest something?"

He can't help rolling his eyes at how cute yet so dangerously drunk he is that he doesn't even recognize his own nickname when he hears it. Who gets wasted at four in the afternoon? Something not right, but that's nothing new.

"A suggestion," Steve answers gently, his expression remaining calm while Bucky burst out in drunken laughter with his whole body going backwards. "You're drunk."

Bucky stops laughing abruptly, offended. "Thought I was _Bucky_? Oh shit, I love this goddamn song. Babe, dance wit me..."

It's not up for discussion. Before Steve has a say or can react, Bucky's metal hands finds Steve's and presses down enough against his flesh to hurt. Steve winces slightly and tries to jerk away, but Bucky's too oblivious and lost in singing along to the song to notice and ease up.

"Babe," Steve starts, but Bucky's swaying as if he has no cares, while his other hand is shaped as a gun, firing imaginary rounds in the air. It's fitting to the song, but it's so unlike Bucky to actually dance on beat and dance well. Steve's thrown off for a second, just staring at him in disbelief - there's no way this is the same man who awkwardly humped midair with no true purpose for his arms just two months ago.

"This song," he begins, pointing to the record player then dragging Steve's body to his with more force than needed, causing their bodies to collide right into each other, "is my favorite. It's _sooooo_ good...put it on my _Bad Bitch_ playlist... 'M a bad bitch, huh, Stevie...?"

The music blares louder when Bucky adjusts the volume with the remote again. An electric hip hop beat fills the apartment and while Steve can admit he likes it, it's a little uncomfortable to see Buck like this.

"Stevie, when yer a whore like me, you gotsta pay attention to ya money," he advises lethargically, still managing to be articulate. "Muh'fuggas will try and take advantage of you, bro. Sometimes you just gotta be like, ya know-" he pauses and waits for the best in the song to drop and he begins singing along to the chorus.

"_Bitch betta have my money_," he shouts as loud as he can, grinding skillfully against Steve's crotch, never letting his hand go, swinging the bottle about with no fucks given. "_Pay me what you owe me! Bitch betta have my, bitch betta have my, bitch betta have my, bitch betta have my money!_"

He points to Steve with the nearly empty bottle and shakes his head like he's unbelieving of the lyrics. "Stevie, _I fuckin luhhh Rihanna_," he tells him and pulls him in with a hand behind his neck, trying to force a kiss, but Steve extracts himself to not only avoid contact but to get away from the potent smell of the alcohol.

"You need to chill out, Buck," he tells him and finally gets free from the vice grip on his metal hand to swiftly make his way over to the record player and disconnect his phone from the AUX cord.

He feels like he can finally breathe when immediate silence falls over the apartment. The silence is short lived when Bucky groans aloud and complains in a series of protesting incoherent syllables and noises. Steve ignores him and goes to the kitchen to get a bottle of water for him. Just as he enters the living room again, Bucky's finishing the bottle and setting it lazily on the dining room table.

"You done?" Steve smirks and discards of the bottle in the trash compactor, reenters the living area, and opens the bottle of water.

"Yer such a party pooper," Bucky complains and waves his hands back and forth in a jazzy fashion. He's grinning like he's told himself the world's funniest joke, but he's eyeing Steve like he wants to devour him. It's a little unsettling, but Steve ignores it as he forces the bottle at him and stands there till Bucky reluctantly takes it.

"Drink it."

"This is probably water, _heh_?" He guesses after sniffing the brim of the plastic bottle with skepticism. "Where's _da_ vodka?"

Steve watches him take a testing sip and cringe at him at the lack of alcohol. "In your system. You've had enough to drink."

"How _d'you_ know?" He asks, surprised that Steve caught onto how drunk he is.

The question isn't dignified with a response as Steve removes his jacket and shoes to be placed in the coat closet.

"Sit down on the couch," Steve demands of him as he heads into the hallway bathroom to see if he has any aspirin. Bucky'll be needing it soon.

Bucky's watching him with unfocused pupils and chugging down from the bottle then wincing when he remembers it's just water. Steve pokes his head out of the bathroom to see if he'd followed instructions and groans when he sees his boyfriend just standing there defiantly.

"Buck, I need you sit down. _Please_," he repeats and slams the medicine cabinet shut when he can't find any Aleve.

"Yer not the boss a me, Steve," he growls under his breath and rolls his eyes. Steve stops mid stride to shoot him a look.

"Sit. On. The. Couch. _Now_," he annunciates word clearly with a hushed tone, wavering along the lines of frustrated and desperate.

It gets Bucky's eyes rounded and scared when even after a minute of eyeing each other down, Steve's authoritative stance doesn't falter. Wherever he is mentally catches up with where he should be when he and Steve lock eyes.

He holds the bottle weakly in one hand and pouts childishly when he aimlessly ventures beyond the spot he's rooted himself in, glancing back at Steve to see if he'll follow. Steve does after getting some more water from the kitchen. Bucky's taken a spot on the couch, arms crossed, half bottle of water on the coffee table. He looks royally pissed now that the music's off and his supply's been cut off and replaced with water. Leave it to Bucky to be grumpy about being taken care of.

When Steve promised to do so in his texts earlier, he didn't have this in mind, but he'll accept watching over Bucky anyway he can even if it's as not ideal as trying to sober him up a little and make sure he doesn't get hurt.

"Thank you," Steve says, sets the bottle on the coffee table and takes a seat in front of Bucky to look him over in case he'd harmed himself before Steve'd arrived. There's no physical evidence of any damage done, so he just sticks to stroking his cheek delicately just to keep familiarizing his skin with Bucky's. His face is clammy from sweat, but Steve doesn't mind and keeps touching him.

"If it means anything, I enjoyed the show," Steve teases and Bucky half smiles with a shrug.

"'M good at what a do," he responds and grimaces when Steve shoves another bottle of water at him. "Nah, bruh, fuck dat. I don't want fuckin' water. It's fake vodka."

"If you don't drink it, you'll be sick later."

"Already sick," he shoots back and leans back into the couch with a wry laugh. "The fuck you gotta be such a party pooper? Old man..."

"Drink, Bucky" he instructs.

"_No_."

Steve sighs. He can't force him. "_Why_?"

"'S fake vodka. All I drink is real vodka. Real vodka," he replies, goofy. "You may not know much 'bout real vodka since you's a lil' Boy Scout. Right, Stevie? You're a boy sc-" he hiccups - "-out. Don't know shit about _my_ kinda problems. Quit tryin' to nurse me like 'm some lil' boy. You've _never_ had to struggle a day in your privileged life."

He brushes Steve off by waving him and the water away in the most condescending way possible. He slips from Steve grasp, and it feels like the biggest_ 'Fuck you'_ ever.

That's where he has Steve all wrong. Steve nods in what could be agreement, but it's just a reflex to shield the hurt from the statement. Little does Bucky even know just how many demons Steve has.

The weight of the situation doesn't hit Steve till he realizes that the hot mess Bucky is right now puts him in a similar position to the one he was in back in October. Not only is he drunk out of his mind and could've accidentally hauled himself over the balcony, but the door was left unlocked and anybody could've taken advantage of his inebriated state since he could barely hold himself up against Steve moments ago.

The biggest red flag to all of this is why in the middle of the day did he decide to get this drunk by himself. Steve doesn't wanna assume before getting too upset. It's difficult not to when he's put himself in danger like this. He can only imagine what would've happened if Mischka came home to find him.

Steve staring pretty intently as Bucky finishes a bottle of water and takes five minutes to get the plastic top screwed back on properly. Bucky must've caught up with himself, realized what'd he'd said when he observes Steve's concern closely and goes crestfallen .

"You okay?" Steve asks, staring straight into his dazed out expression.

It takes him a while to answer properly when he stumbles over his words shamefully. He doesn't seem to keen with admitting how rude he'd been but he just shakes his head and surprises Steve with an innocent peck aimed for his mouth but ends up on the center of Steve's chin, coating his stubble with saliva.

"'M _sorry_," he squeaks and looks to the floor, trembling as if he'd begin crying. "Didn't mean dat...was mean..._I love you.._. Please know_ I love you..._"

"I know you do."

He sniffles but there'r no tears to justify it. "You's so _beautiful_. _My beautiful_ _baby_," his voice cracks and the tears are finally shining glassy like marbles over hazed, grey irises. "I won' be mean again...s-s-sorry, Steve..."

That breaks his heart now. Steve gathers him up in a hug which he expected to be resisted with drunk ambition, but he sinks into the embrace warmly, hiding in Steve's neck.

"It's okay, baby."

"Yer _mad_ at me..."

"No, I'm not. It's fine," he comforts him even thought it' a lie. "You're just a little drunk. We'll talk about it when you sober up, okay?"

Another sniffle comes out of Bucky simultaneously when he clings closer to him, digging his forehead deeper into the safe zone of Steve's neck. "Didn't mean t'git drunk again. I just miss _her_."

Bucky's choice of words catch him off guard.

_Her?_

He pulls away to see Bucky's face is reddening, but the tears still don't fall yet. The way he was minutes ago dancing around is a complete switch from the shame written all over his face. The guy actually looks kinda sad, resembling a frightened animal.

"Her," Steve repeats experimentally, getting Bucky nodding rapidly, lips pouted, but not bothering to look up at the older man.

_Her?_

The only _her_ Steve can recall at the moment is Mischka who'll be home soon. She doesn't need to see Bucky like this, so he sets the '_her_' thing aside for the time being and wraps both hand around Bucky's to pull him to a stand.

"C'mon, babe," he encourages and supports Bucky to the bedroom. "Gotta get you in bed. I'll make you feel better."

The other man follows sluggishly but willingly without argument, but he's still mumbling under his breath. "A-A-Are you gon' _fuck_ me?" he's struggling to say, sounding worriedly curious- versus sensually mischievous- and downright scared that Steve would openly take advantage of him. Steve rethinks his words and curses himself when he sets Bucky down gently on the edge of the mattress and rubs his cheek.

"I didn't mean it _like that,_" he assures him and kisses his damp forehead. "I'd _never_ do that to you, and I wouldn't let anybody else do that to you."

Bucky's lashes are wet and sticking together from the random tears that are wetting up his eyes. Resembling a deer in headlights, he just nods, clearly unbelieving at Steve's words like he'd suddenly change his mind and use him anyway.

It doesn't go unnoticed, so Steve kisses his forehead again and wraps him up in his arms again for a minute long hug.

"I'm not gonna hurt you. Bucky, I'd never do anything like that to you," Steve whispers into his ear and kisses his temple.

"I'm basically _asking fer it,_ gittin' drunk like dis," he gets out and keeps holding onto Steve for dear life, despite being scared as all fuck that Steve's gonna do something he said he wouldn't. It's obvious nothing's getting through to Bucky, so Steve just extracts his arms from around him and squats in front of him to look up at him.

"You're not asking for anything. Help, maybe?"

Bucky doesn't answer. He just directs his line of sight to the floor like the brown in the carpet holds the answer to literally everything.

Steve tries again. "You okay?" He knows the answer, but Bucky doesn't answer again. "Why don't you just lay down, sweetie? I've got something for you."

Bucky does as he's told, barely glances down at Steve when he shies away and gets comfortable above the comforters without a word. It's not till he sees Steve reaches into the side night table does he whimper and scoot as far as possible from Steve to be digging his knees into the mattress.

"D-d-don'. _Please, don't fuck me_," he pleads, hands up in surrender, head hanging low. "D-don'. _Please_... Don'fuck me. I'm so s-s-sorry... Won't git drunk no more..._Just don' fuck me.._."

Confused, Steve stares with his mouth hanging open at the outburst and scans Bucky's body language and weak begging. Looking down, he sees a condom and lube next to the Aleve, snaps his jaw shut, and sighs sadly.

"Not gonna hurt you, baby," he repeats to Bucky and shakes the bottle of pills, causing a rattling sound to echo in the room as he does. "Just getting you something for later."

Bucky's unfocused glare flashes between Steve and the medicine. When Steve sets it down, he relaxes and puts his hands down, feeling foolish that he'd thought for a split second that Steve would _ever_ do that to him. Like before, he lays back down and gets comfortable again while Steve unscrews the cap on the bottle and takes out two pills. He sets them on the nightstand.

"Gonna go get your water, love," he tells Bucky, but he doesn't say anything back. Steve enter the living area, grabs the remaking bottles of water from the coffee table, and claps his hands to turn the lights off.

When Steve reenters his bedroom, Bucky's back is to the door, so that whatever he's mumbling goes unheard. "Didn't mean t'be mean to m' Stevie. Didn't wan' hurt _m'Stevie_," Bucky repeats over and over, hushed and sacred like a prayer into the pillow. So as not to startle him, Steve sets the water next to the pills and clears his throat lowly. Bucky sluggishly turns back to look at him with tears clouding his eyes and streaming down his cheeks.

"_Stevie_," he whines and shakes his head. "I miss her. M'sorry was so mean t'you..._I just miss her_."

Steve's not sure what to say. Instead, he offers a polite smile and gestures to the pills and water. "For when you wake up," he says and goes to the foot of the bed to remove Bucky's slippers. "Sleep well, babe."

"Yer leaving...?" He sounds so heartbroken, voiced croaked beyond all being.

"Would you rather I stayed?"

Bucky sniffles, but doesn't make to wipe his face. "_Stevie, don't leave me_."

That goes so much deeper than just sitting in the living room and waiting till he awakes. When he says '_leave_,' he means 'break up.' That's the farthest thing from Steve's mind, but he can understand where the panic lies.

"I won't," Steve says with a nod and just lays beside him, refusing to touch him so he won't get the wrong idea, but the minute he makes contact with the comforter, Bucky's squirming to him, head on his chest, arms around his waist.

The crying doesn't stop. The tears leak like a river onto Steve, but he doesn't say a word about it. He just places a hand in Bucky's hair and begins to scratch.

Bucky's asleep within the hour.

Steve doesn't realize he'd fallen asleep too until he awakes a sweaty mess of limbs tangled around Bucky at the jingle and vibrate coming from his pocket. Before answering the call, he checks the time to see it's almost seven at night and Clint is calling. Steve accepts the call and presses Bucky's phone to his ear, rubbing between his eyes on the bridge of his nose.

"Hello?" He answers gruffly, sliding out from under Bucky slow enough to not disturb or wake him.

"_Bucky_?" Clint says on the other line, confused and alert.

"No, it's Steve," he tells him and stretches his muscles out when he's on his feet, standing over the bed. Bucky, in his sleep, substitutes what's missing of Steve's body with a nearby pillow by snuggling it close and breathing shallowly into the fabric.

He can hear Clint's hesitation. "Oh, um..._hi_? Listen, man, I don't seem to sound unexcited to hear from ya, but _where's Bucky_? Been trying to get in touch with him all afternoon."

Steve watches over Bucky for a few more seconds to make sure he's okay before exiting the room to get himself something to drink and turning up the air conditioning since he's sweating bullets right about now. "Oh, um, he's been asleep," he yawns then adds on, "Well, we've _both_ been."

Clint chuckles uncertainly and there's a shift in moves on the other line. "Sleep? I know he's getting old, but didn't know he's reached geezer status of taking naps in the middle of the day."

Steve scoffs. "Yeah, well, he was a little bit drunk earlier," he informs him, even though it's that's an under exaggeration. "Had to get him to sleep before Mischka got home."

The joking tone doesn't reach Clint's end when he listens to what Steve's saying. These a brief pause where Clint just sighs dramatically, triggering Steve.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, setting the cold, bottled water down before taking a sip. "Is Mischka alright?"

With a curse, Clint exhales again and it sounds like he's getting up from wherever he's sitting. Suddenly, his tone is hushed and reserved which usually means there's a secret. "Yeah, ugh, she's alright. She just got finished dinner," he groans. "Ugh, _damn_. Fuck, _that_ explains a lot."

"What're you talking about?"

"You said he was _drunk_ when you came home?"

"Ugh, yeah. Like drunk enough where he didn't know his own name. It was pretty scary."

"Shit..."

"Clint," Steve barks impatiently, staring ahead at particularly nothing for his focus is primarily on whatever's going to be said on the other line."What is it? Explains what?"

There's another phase but it's short lived. "He didn't tell you."

His eyes narrow while his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Tell me _what_?"

There's more silence, and it drives Steve crazy. Obviously there's something amiss that must've slipped Steve, but he feels like yelling every second Clint doesn't tell him.

Eventually, he clears his throat. "Today's the six year anniversary of Natasha's passing. She was in a car accident and got struck by a drunk driver, but Bucky blames himself because they had a fight beforehand. The following months after it happened, Bucky would get really drunk to try and forget, but it got bad at one point. Had to take the kid from him for a while before he got himself together. Every year since, Laura and I take him and Mischka to her grave to say goodbyes and we usually have dinner after so he wouldn't drink. I figured he would've been over by now, but _now_ I know _why_."

Steve swallows a hard lump in his throat. Natasha is the her Buck was slurring on and on about. Now it makes sense.

"Oh," he croaks out and stutters. "I, ugh, I-I-I didn't know that. Shit."

"Yeah, shit. Is he okay?"

Tears prick behind Steve's eyes. He's not sure why, but he has a fair idea. When Bucky hurts, he hurts. "He's asleep. He's fine."

"You sure?"

"Um, yeah," he squeaks out, his throat closing off. His chest heaves heavily, but he bites his lip passed it to avoid full on tears of pain. "Yeah, he's okay. I'm sorry, Clint."

"No, Steve. It's fine. You didn't know."

_Why didn't Bucky tell him?_

"How bad was it?" He asks suddenly, strolling out of the kitchen on wobbling legs back to his bedroom. Bucky's still asleep. "The drinking, I mean."

Clint takes a moment to think. "Pretty intense. He used to huddle up in he and Nat's apartment, go days without showering or eating, drink nothing but vodka all day and play some Pink Floyd song on his guitar. He got really violent when people tried to offer him help. Nearly took my head off once with that arm of his."

Steve lays beside Bucky and presses kisses to his temple. He can't picture what Clint's telling him, but it doesn't make him any less sad that it happened. _Damn, why didn't Bucky tell him?_ He would've said fuck it to the gym and been here to ease his mind _if he knew.._.

"But, um, yeah," Clint finishes and sighs. "It's been hard for him in the past. Until _you_, he hadn't been so depressed about her."

"He always seems so nonchalant whenever he mentions her."

"Yeah, he's a strong kid. Strong, yes, but he's hiding behind layers and layers of hurt to try and prove he's a tough cookie when in reality, he's about as as gentle as a mouse," Clint manages a chortle, but Steve just stares at Bucky's rising and falling bare chest. The scars adorning his arm and shoulder are glowing red from the pressure he's putting on it in his sleep.

"That's true," Steve can't help but agree as he sets straying wisps of hair from Bucky's braids behind his ears and away from his face. "Gentle as a mouse and soft as a peach."

"I'm still finding it odd how he _didn't_ tell you."

Steve could say the same thing. "Yeah. Um, is the little one okay? How was she today?"

"Well, she was pretty good. Actually, you wanna talk to her?"

That lifts Steve's heart from the darkest pit of his stomach. "Yes, please," he sighs out in relief at the thought of hearing her voice. That seems to be only thing keeping him from bursting into tears.

There's distant shifting noises in the background when Clint pulls the phone from his ear and calls, "Mischka! Steve's on the phone!" Steve recognizes the tiny patter of footsteps against hard wood and his little gi - _Bucky's_ little girl humming and racing to get to the phone. She's probably skipping, making her pigtails bounce with each step. A breath Steve didn't realize he was holding escapes him when he practically hears her smile on the other line.

"Stevie!" She cheers.

"Hey, baby," he whispers and sits upward to have his back against the headboard. "How's my best girl?"

"I'm fine!"

"Good. What'd you do in school today?"

"Learned about stuff like gravity and went to dance practice."

"Oh, yeah?" He beams with interest. "That's nice. Uncle Clint told me you guys went to see your mama. How was that?"

"_Er_," she hesitates and clicks her tongue. "Well, we didn't really _see_ her, Stevie."

"Yeah, I know _that_," he laughs. "I meant, what was it like, um, being there to say goodbye?"

Her voice livens again. "It was creepy but kinda fun because it's almost Christmas, and Daddy once told me Mommy loved Christmas. I talked to a stone with her name on it. She didn't say anything back - which was _really_ _rude_ \- but Uncle Clint gave her flowers."

How much does a six year old grasp when it comes to the concept of death? Mischka's an insanely intelligent girl, but does she really understand the weight of it? That in her lifetime, she will never see or hear from Natasha again, and all she has are vague, forgettable memories that won't last from when she was six months old?

"That's nice. Had dinner?"

"Mhm. Clint took me to this really fancy resta-want," she mumbles and it sounds likes she's laying down. "Now I'm tired. I want to see you and Daddy."

"Yeah? Uncle Clint's gonna bring you home soon, okay, baby girl?" Steve tells her, gently caressing Bucky's tense forehead with his thumb till the wrinkles fade. "Be good."

"Okay, I will. I love you, Stevie."

"I love you, too, Mischka. Now give the phone back to Clint."

"Okay, I'll see you later. Bye-bye," she says sleepily and there's a quick silence between her passing the phone off to Clint.

"She's on her way to being knocked out as well," Clint chuckles fondly into the phone. "Well, we'll be over within the hour. Gotta get my kids to bed first."

"Alright," Steve says with a nod. "I'll be up."

"Good call, Steve-o. Take care of my friend."

"I will."

"Good. I'll see ya."

"Okay," Steve sighs. "G'bye, Clint. And thanks again."

"No problem. Bye, Steve."

And like that, the line goes dead.

Clint's a good friend, that's for damn sure. He's been looking after Bucky since day one and still does. Steve'll never forget when he first met Clint and he told him to keep an eye on his then stranger neighbors.

Steve didn't get it then. _Now_ he does. He gets that Bucky's a hurt, little nugget who glows from receiving attention and finds peace in being submissive. He gets that Bucky makes his loved ones worrisome of him because he's reckless when it comes to who he gives himself up to. He gets that Bucky is a people-pleaser and all he wants to be accepted in his relationships.

He also gets that despite all his other hang ups, he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself and his daughter, and all he really wants is someone to take care of him.

That's not a bad thing. That's nothing to be ashamed of.

So, just like Clint had instructed, he takes great care and watches over Bucky as he tosses and turns every so often in his sleep. He doesn't recall blinking till there's a knock on his door that Carter beats him to, all prior training forgotten since she senses it's Miscka on the other side.

Steve unties himself around Bucky and whispers he'll be right back when he heads to the front door, opens it, and had his legs attacked by his favorite six year old's forceful embrace.

"Hi," he _oofs_ and pats her head while Carter bounces around in excitement. Mischka lets him go and waves the dog along as she instinctively goes to the guest room. Steve waits till both his girls are inside the room before facing a weary Clint.

"Is he alright?" are his first words.

"Yeah, still asleep. You wanna see him?"

"I trust you," Clint shrugs and pats his shoulder really friendly. "Thanks, Steve."

"No problem."

"One of these days we gotta go out for a drink. Figure if my best friend's gonna be around you for what will probably be the rest of his life, might as well get to know you a bit better."

That puts a smile on Steve's face. The pressure of winning over the best friend of his partner would've terrified him months ago, but this feels like something look forward to. "Sounds like a plan."

"Cool," Clint smirks and squeezes his shoulders once before turning on his heels. "Tell the dumbass when he wakes up to call me," he demands and gives him a quick wave.

"Will do."

Clint flashes him one last grateful smile before turning the corner to jog down the stairs. Steve shuts his door, locks it, and heads for the guest room. He knocks once and presses his ear to the door before twisting the knob to push it forward and poking his head in.

Fully clothed, she's laying atop the covers it's Carter's shoulder as her pillow. Her breathing is tiny and relaxed while her mind is far off in whatever dreamland she's created. He wasn't sure if he should wake her or not to get some pajamas on her, but Carter's huge brown eyes watch his every move and he'd rather not disturb them.

"Goodnight, you two," he hums when he kisses Mischka's forehead and then Carter's. He turns the ceiling fan light off on his way out and back down the hallway he goes to snuggle against Bucky.

Undisturbed, Bucky reflexively curls into Steve and latches his fingernails into Steve's shirt. The tiniest, panicked whimper leaves him when Steve doesn't cling back immediately. The protective embrace of Steve's arms calms him down as do the kisses along his forehead.

He's so warm like this. Against Bucky. He's so in love that it's almost stupid.

"St-_Steve_," Bucky whines, eyes still closed. "_My_ _Steve_..."

"I'm right here, love."

Bucky shifts a little to tangle their legs together and pulls Steve forward so there's no room or space between them. Steve gets that too - that need to be near and be safe. He craves it.

"Love," Bucky sleepily latches onto that word. "_Love you_..."

_Say it back. Just say it. Fucking shit, just say it, Rogers!_

Steve swallows a lump in his throat with little success. "Go to sleep, babe," he croaks and squeezes the man in his arms. "I've got you. Just go to sleep."

Steve follows his own command and drifts as well. It's when he awakes by himself in his bed at three o' clock in the morning with a note on the nightstand written in Bucky's chicken scratch that he realizes he had. The pills and water he left earlier have disappeared.

After reading the note, he balls it up, and chucks it into the trash can.

_Duty calls_, it reads.

Steve progressively ignores that Bucky's with Brock right now and forces himself back to sleep. It doesn't work, so he takes some pills of his own and downs them with a tall, glass of wine.


	16. 16

That night goes undisclosed.

When Steve had managed to get back to sleep, he was crying over Natasha, and Bucky, and the fact that he spent the rest of the night at Brock's, only arriving home just in time to clean himself up, take Mischka to school, and head off to band practice. When Steve attempted to mention the night before in the slightest when he'd gotten home, Bucky collectively ignored what he was saying and just promised he's sorry for putting him in an uncomfortable situation. He'd kissed him and somehow got the better of Steve. Next thing he knew, they were fucking like eager jackrabbits on Steve's bed.

It's instinctive for him to feel like _the worst boyfriend ever_ when he knows what he knows about Bucky's old drinking problem and Natasha's anniversary behind his back. For all Steve knew, maybe before Bucky got drunk he was planning on telling him. That's giving him the benefit to the doubt.

Even before then, Bucky had every opportunity to tell him. Why _didn't_ he?

Well now, it's a couple of days later and neither of them have mentioned it. In fact, Bucky acts like it _never_ happened and behaves like his normal self around Steve, keeping him on an edge. It's scary - Steve's not sure which Bucky is _real_ and which one is put on.

It's _also_ scary that he doesn't give a damn _which_ one decides to be around. He loves them both and would do just about anything for either.

For example, today he wants to take Bucky on a day date since they've been spending majority of their time cooped away in their apartments. Last time they went out on a date for just them two was their anniversary a month ago. Silly as it is, that didn't occur to Steve till he caught himself in line at a convenient store reading a Cosmopolitan magazine that's headline screamed in white lettering_ 'HOW TO KEEP YOUR MAN HAPPY!_' Skimming through it, he'd found that occasional date nights are helpful in keeping the relationship alive no matter how long a couple's been together.

He'd had the whole day planned to a tee: First, he was planning on skipping their morning run and serving him breakfast in bed that'll hopefully have led to a very intense sex session that included bad breakfast puns and biting.

Afterward, he'd've taken him to the movies to see _Straight Outta Compton_ \- remembering that he's a huge N.W.A fan - and then to _Natalie's_ for lunch since it's a few blocks down from the movie theater. That would have definitely turned into quiet, rough, and spine chilling fucking in the restaurant's bathroom with Steve's hand over Bucky's mouth, egged on by the adrenaline of getting caught.

And to top their day off, he would've taken his best guy to the rink at Rockefeller Center for a romantic skate then back to his apartment for dinner and the third and best fucking of the day.

All that seemed really promising till Steve was awoken at six in the morning by the chirping of his phone indicating a new e-mail. When he checks it and squints at the bright light of his cellphone in the dark of his bedroom, he outright whines and kicks his feet in the air like a disciplined child.

"What's wrong?" Bucky groggily groans, head tucked safely under Steve's pillows.

"_Fuck_," he bites out and tosses his phone to the end of the bed. "Got called into the office."

"You never go in. Why'r you complaining about going in today?" Bucky's words gloss over almost inarticulately, but he sound pretty annoyed for Steve anyway.

"Had the day planned out for us," Steve explains and ducks back under the comforter to embrace Bucky's half asleep form in. "We never go on dates anymore, and I wanted to do something nice for us today. Was gonna make breakfast, take you to a movie, lunch, ice skating - all that jazz."

When Steve glances down at him, he's smiling fondly against Steve's bicep with chapped, pink lips. His skin glows blue from the black of the night coinciding with the rising sun outside the window.

"What?" Steve questions.

"Nothing," he says, fully awake now.

"Why're you smiling?"

"You're the biggest sap ever, and I love you, and you're _the best boyfriend_ I've ever had," he explains and shifts himself to be staring up at Steve through the dim, navy light. His eyelashes tickle Steve's bicep when he blinks. "You really planned a whole day for us?"

"Yeah."

"'Cus we _don't_ already spend _all_ our time together," Bucky retaliates mockingly with a playful undertone.

"'Cus we're always cooped up in the apartment for no reason."

The top row of teeth press deep into Bucky's bottom lip when he bites them and rounds his eyes at Steve. To get him to stop, Steve pulls Bucky's lip out from under his teeth. "Stop that," he commands, catching on quickly to Bucky's one of many nervous mannerisms. "You'll hurt yourself. What's wrong?"

"The only reason I never suggest we go anywhere is because I thought leaving the apartments made you uncomfortable," he admits shyly, analyzing Steve's reaction carefully like to prepare for him to yell at him.

Steve sighs and regard Bucky with a gentle gaze. He loves this man_ so much_. "Quit being so dramatic," he says more towards himself. "I'm fine now with leaving the apartment, okay? Not that big of a deal anymore."

He receives an unconvinced pout.

"Am I _not_ going to the Bahamas with you this week?" Steve points out, and his partner's face softens.

"You gonna ever tell me why you became a hermit for eight years?"

"I wasn't a hermit."

"A recluse," Bucky tries.

"Wasn't that either," he denies and lays his head back onto his pillow. "I didn't spend _all_ my time in my apartment."

"Not according to Sam," Bucky protest flatly, pitching himself up to be resting on his elbows. "He told me you would only go to the grocery store once a month and spend almost a thousand dollars at a time on food and stuff so that it'd last you and you wouldn't have to go back out."

"That's just smart shopping," Steve insists and shuts his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Bucky's scanning over him and reading him better than an open book.

"Sounds like you were afraid of _something_. Like leaving the apartment."

"Okay, _no_," Steve forces out an easygoing chuckle, but it sounds like he's got something stuck in his throat. It's too early to be having this talk with Bucky of all people. "No, that's not it. I just don't like grocery stores."

"You must not like people either because Sam also informed me that you didn't go on a single date - aside from Tony Stark - for eight years either," he mentions nonchalantly and doesn't let his concerned frown go unnoticed. "At first I didn't believe it when he'd told me that the last time you dated was when you were twenty-four years old."

Steve doesn't respond, but Bucky goes on.

"What happened, babe?" He asks delicately, cautious of what reaction he might get but still persistent nonetheless. "You know you can tell me. Was it Peggy?"

While Steve understands that he's just trying to help him, he wishes Bucky cared less when it came to anything relationship related having to do with Steve before they met.

Did he really wanna pour his heart out to Bucky about how Peggy cheated on him and married Gabe? And even had a little girl that probably calls him Uncle Bucky?

Yeah, he'd rather _not_.

"Buck, it's not important. What do you want for breakfast?" He doesn't have time to make breakfast, but he'll say anything to deter the psychoanalyzing he's enduring at the moment.

Resigned, but not defeated, Bucky just stares at him. "You're trying to change the subject because I'm right."

"You're left."

His eye roll is easier to see with the peeking sun turning the sky a sherbet's pink and orange. "You don't even realize how much I worry about your ass, and it royally pisses me off that you won't let me in about this kinda stuff."

_Look who is talking_. "Mr. Sensitivity," Steve quips.

Bucky twists his mouth which means he's thinking. "It's not that you don't trust me, is it?"

"Has nothing to do with _you_, love. It's _me_. My head and getting used to talking about those kinda things with my anxiety and shit ain't easy for me."

"Ain't easy for anybody. But I just wanna make it easier. _I need you_ to know that of all things I can give you in this relationship is comfort. I don't wanna push, babe, b-b-but I worry," he admits shyly and kisses Steve's pectoral muscles individually then between them where he keeps his head tucked. "I worry if when I'm gone to practice or taking the kid to school you'll have another anxiety attack that I can't help you through. I don't want you to face that _alone_ anymore. Not after eight years of it," he mumbles into Steve's muscles, not even resurfacing when butterfly pecks are being scattered atop his head.

To say the anxiety attack worried Bucky is an understatement; It outright _terrified_ Bucky to see the strongest person he knows be reduced to a wheezing, unresponsive mess on the bathroom floor. Especially if that person if the one he's fallen so stupidly in love with that he'd dedicate an entire section of his song book to just songs and poems about him. Just a week ago, Steve had swore Bucky was better off not knowing of how bad his anxiety gets, and it'd upset him so much he actually yelled at Steve and slept on the opposite side of the bed.

If Steve underestimated Bucky's capacity to care before, he definitely doesn't now. This kid's head over heels in love with Steve and being the pushy and persistent boyfriend pestering him about why he is how he is so he can assist him is one of the many ways he shows it.

Everything Bucky does is with good morale.

It somehow lessens the drunk on Natasha's anniversary thing, but it doesn't completely stop the shooting pain in Steve's chest at how much Bucky'd hurt himself because he didn't see a confidant in Steve that night. Why hadn't he told him?

_He means well, Rogers,_ he internally tells himself. _Cut him some slack._

Steve sucks on his teeth teasingly and makes to lighten the mood now that the sun's almost halfway up and a whole section of the room is lit. "Aw, is my baby boy worried about me?" He rhetorically asks, voiced all babied up and grabbing Bucky's attention almost instantaneously. He lifts his head from Steve's chest, eyes like saucers and bottom lip poked out.

"Yes, sir," he answers seriously and searches Steve face in wonder, taking mental pictures to let these little moments settle into his memory so he'll have them forever. Steve's so sinfully gorgeous - one look could make Bucky do bad things. "I'm worried about you, sir."

If it weren't already tucked in Bucky's hands, Steve's heart would burst right out of his body at the pretty way his baby boy responds. "Why's that? Hmm? Why's my baby boy so worried about me? Cus of my anxiety?"

"Yes, sir. I-I-I wanna _help_," he nods feverishly. "I wanna make it better for you."

There's no 'sir' at the end. He's talking straight to Steve, but never breaks character.

"You wanna know how you can help me, baby? Just keep doing what you're doing and being my good boy. Keep being my Bucky, and I guarantee I'll be fine," he promises and cups Bucky's jaw tight so he can't tear his gaze away.

"_Your_ Bucky," he repeats, testing it out and liking how it sounds by smiling and saying it a second, third, _and_ fourth time.

"My baby boy, my boyfriend, my partner. _My_ Bucky," Steve rambles, letting whatever comes to mind as he circles the tips of their noses around each other's lightly in what would be the corniest Eskimo kiss ever. It looks ridiculous, but it feels just as intimate as an other kiss, so he pursues it and shuts his eyes. Bucky follows and giggles to himself before taking the plunge with a 'fuck morning breath' attitude and kissing Steve square on the mouth.

The blond responds accordingly and loops their lips round in round in sloppy, wet kisses till they're moaning and grabbing at each other under the covers. Bucky's head is at the right tilt to dive his tongue deeper and swirl it about Steve's, sending a jolt to their crotches.

"What time you gotta be in the office?" Bucky wonders, greedily stealing kisses on Steve's neck.

_Shit_. Steve had forgotten all about that. "S-seven- thirty. Wh-what - shit, babe,_ that's my fucking spot_," he moans and presses himself harder into the body attacking his to feel the hard flesh of Bucky's erection against his own. One slide is all it takes to get him to howl and grip the sheets. "Buck, babe, what time is it? Shit, _go lower.._."

Doing as instructed, Bucky descends on the crevices of Steve's neck, glancing up to meet his eyes then the digital clock on the nightstand. "It's 6:54. We've got time."

"No, we don't," Steve groans regretfully, but doesn't stop the brunet's ministrations. He might as well be on fire from the electric waves coursing in, out, under, and over every nerve in his body at the sensation of Bucky's slick, wet tongue and rough hands on his hips. They're on their way to creeping passed the band of Steve's pajama pants, till Steve silently curses himself and grabs a halting hold around Bucky's metal wrist.

"We, ugh," he utters, looks down at how pretty they look so close like this, and then up to Bucky. "We _don't_ have time. I gotta shower, get dr-dressed, um, commute's, like, half an hour, babe."

"You can't call in late?" He asks with his voice up an octave, using a taunting juvenile drawl.

The disappointed look on Bucky's face is enough to actually make him wanna call in late or even_ fucking quit_ so he can dedicate this moment to him. He wants to, but he can't. When you have the guy and job of your dreams, supposedly there's compromises to be made. And aside from that, Steve's too honest to do that.

"No, I'm sorry, love. I can't."

And then the guy full on pouts with his bottom lip trembling, eyebrows hitched to the middle, eyes narrowed, and lashing batting. There's a spot in Hell engraved _Steven G. Rogers_ for the things he's thinking when he watches Bucky lift up and straddle him with arms crossed.

"Ah, but, _sir_..." He drags the word out, extending his body backwards to elongate his slides against Steve's crotch. Both erections are aimed at Steve in an accusing, expecting fashion which makes his mouth salivate and his thoughts stutter. "Sir, I _really_ wanted to spend the day with _you_."

"I-I- I know, baby boy." His hands travel from his sides to grasp Bucky's ass firmly. "I'm s-s-sorry. _Fuck_, I'm sorry," he strains, assisting Bucky's drawn out thrusts against his better judgement. His body is flushing; this feeling is dirty and wrong, but have never been more right.

"What time will you be home, sir?"

Remembering what the email had said is a little hard for Steve to process given all the blood in his brain is rushing to his cock. "Um, er, d-don't know, baby. H-have to work late, though."

"But, _Daddy_, when are you gonna make time for your baby boy?" Bucky demands slyly, and watches closely as Steve's eyes flash back into his head and chest tightens. That's the perfect trigger to pull, obliterating every bit of common sense left in Steve.

"Ah, _shit_! Man, fuck this," Steve exclaims, giving no fucks and roughing around to grind harder against Bucky. The younger man allows it with a victorious smile and edges he and Steve's pants off with one arm and braces himself against the mattress with the other.

"What time is it?" Steve asks, spits onto his palm, and takes generous hold of both he and Bucky.

"6:57, sir," Bucky moans blissfully, thrusting his hips into Steve's rapid hand, slicking them both up with the pre-come oozing from his red tip. Steve's stressed bottom lip is between his teeth as he watches himself with Bucky's hard dick in hand, jerking them together. This _has_ to be what Hell feels like.

"Baby boy," he grunts out roughly, shooting intimidating daggers up to Bucky as he writhes around atop of him. "If you _don't_ come by the time the clock hits seven, _you will not come at all_ until I get home. Do you understand?"

Bucky's so lost that he just nods with a loose neck, not having registered what the hell Steve's saying. All he could filter was 'baby boy' and 'come.'

"Fuck, baby," the older man growls. "First, you badger me with a bunch of questions so early in the morning. Now, you're gonna make me late," he puts on the best disciplinary tone he can without moaning whorish like he wants to. "Baby boy, you've been so bad. _So, so, bad..._"

Their hips don't stop. It's 6:58.

"I've been bad," Bucky repeats and tosses his head back to expose his neck. "Ah, _Daddy_, I like your hands on me. So nice and rough, and - _auh_!" He shouts and flits his head forward to stare wide eyed at Steve. His nostrils are flared, prominently displaying every cute freckle on his face. "Auh, sir, feels so good. Fuck." His voice is passing strained at this point. It's one of his tells. He's forcing himself to comes quicker because it's either waiting all day for Steve to come home and relieve him. "'M gonna come, sir."

"Yeah? You like when Sir jerks you off like this?" Steve mocks, jaw set tight. "You think you deserve to even come when you tease me like this?"

"N-no, sir..._fuck_, babe," he cries out and rocks himself wildly into Steve when he sees the red numbers on the clock switch to 6:59. "I like when you jerk me off, sir... Steve, _please_, go _faster_."

It'd be cruel to purposely delay his orgasm, so Steve speeds up his wrists and feels his lower body tickle with the faint buildup of an orgasm. The sweat between them gets him to go faster, paying more attention to Bucky than himself.

"_Auh_, baby," Bucky moans loudly, sweat carding through his hair and sticking to his forehead. "Gonna come. Gonna come. Gonna _fuckin_' come..."

The one thing that gets Bucky over most of the time is dirty encouragement, so Steve grants him that. "Oh, come for me, baby boy. Come for your Daddy. Be good boy and come for me. _Come for me_."

"_Oh_," he yelps to the sky anxiously, tossing his head back again and tightening his body up. He's right at the fucking edge, and losing himself as he falls right over. "Fuck, 'm gonna come all over you..._fuck_..._fuck_! Oh, _Stevie_," he cries, leaning forward, toppling right on top of Steve and into the clean lines of white come spurting from his tip and along Steve's torso. "_Fuck_! Fucking...fuck...sir..."

Steve comes seconds after him. He twitches, cursing into Bucky's shoulder then clamping down onto the damp flesh, tasting the salt from his sweat. His body locks up and releases a healthy load of semen between them, making them stick together. Bucky gathers his breath before Steve and laughs once, kissing the neck before him chastely and the nibbling on his earlobe.

"What time is it?" Steve asks blissfully. His head's clearer. His body feels lighter; it wasn't such a bad idea to give into Bucky's advances. Going into work doesn't seem so terrible now.

"7:01," Bucky tells him, but doesn't move to let him up. "_Please_, just call in late. I don't want you to leave the bed now."

"Got to, love. I'm sorry." His apology is sincere, and Bucky sees that clear as the sun up in the sky outside that window. There's always a way to salvage the day.

"Okay, fine," he accepts it, but isn't excited about it. "If we can't spend our day together, can I at least come down to your office and bring you lunch? That's cute as shit."

No one's he's ever dated has done such a nice gesture for him before. Not even Peggy. The heat of his face probably blushes a bashful red, but he just resists a huge, cheesy smile and nods. "Yeah. Okay, Buck, that sounds fun."

"_Awesome_!" His demeanor lightens. "Okay, what time's your lunch break? What do you want to eat?" Wh-"

"Just come by the _S.H.I.E.L.D_ office at noon. Surprise me," Steve beams, kisses Bucky's forehead, and lovingly pecks his nose. "Now get the fuck up."

"Can I shower with you?"

It'll take up some time Steve can't spare if he wants to make it on time, but he surely doesn't care at this point. When Bucky rolls off of him, he snatches him back up by his torso and carries him bridal style to the bathroom.

* * *

"You're late, Rogers," are the first words out of Darcy's full, chocolate muffin occupied mouth when Steve steps off the elevator to his floor. She's at the receptionist desk, twiddling a lock of hair around a manicured finger with a shit eating grin on her freshly done face as she gives him a once over.

"Good morning, Darce," he replies and strides right over to her desk after taking a quick look around the office area. The walls have been repainted from navy blue to crimson red, last year edition comic book posters have been switched out with the latest creations, desks have been rearranged and even the carpet is new. There's relaxing jazz music playing over the intercom, too. The only thing that hasn't changed is the smell of creativity and freshly printed paper that seems to hover no matter where he'll go in the office. It's surely been a minute or two since he's been here. He misses it, truth be told.

"How's my favorite receptionist this morning?" He continues and leans against her rounded desk, takes a candy from the glass bowl, and plops it in his mouth.

"I'm good," she says cheerfully after swallowing the remains of her muffin and adjusts her headset away from her mouth so she can kiss Steve's cheek in greeting. She's smelling like pineapples this morning. "However, you're late. Good for you I switched your schedule to say you're to be in at eight-thirty and not seven. You're off the hook, and Fury doesn't suspect a thing."

"And _that's_ why you're my favorite receptionist," he says honestly and gives her a cheesy thumbs up that gets her smiling wide. "Why'm I even here today?"

She shrugs and twirls around in her chair. "Must be big news happening."

"Nothing that couldn't be sent in an email?"

"You complain a lot for someone who only comes in when there's free food involved."

"Can't help I like working from home," he insists with a devilish smirk, thinking back to his time in bed with Bucky just half an hour ago.

"Yeah, I'm _not_ surprised. Why work from the office when you can draw at home and get your dick sucked at the same time? I presume that's why you're late, yeah?"

He walked right into that one. However, his smirk stands strong and he just hutches his shoulders. "Bucky's fine, thanks for asking. Don't you have work to do?"

"Maybe I could get to it if there weren't a dorky, blond building with legs distracting me," her tone drops low - it's _nearly_ suggestive. He plays along because he can tell a joke when he hears one.

"Okay, my bad, Ms. Lewis," his hands are up in surrender as he starts his way down the hallway and through the cubicles to get to his desk. "The building will get out of the way and let the spunky, brunette kitten with tits work."

Her cheeks redden, yet her crystal like smile spreads wider. Clear as day, her notably nice tits are out for the day, peeking through her half buttoned, green dress shirt. "Yeah, yeah. My tits and I thank you. Have a good day, Steve. I'll see you at lunch," she calls to him as he disappears around the corner, but he jerks back around at the mention of lunch.

"Actually, speaking of lunch, Bucky's gonna visit. When he gets here, could you just send him to my desk?"

"Sure thing," she nods and adjusts her headset again when the phone attached rings. "Now go do some work!" She shoos him and answers the call. "S.H.I.E.L.D Graphic Designs &amp; Studios, this is Darcy. How can I assist you today?"

On his way to his desk, Steve does his very best to ignore all the awed stares and mutters that his coworkers are unintentionally directed towards him. It makes the walk to his desk longer than necessary; feels like hours before he has to ask himself if he's been gone for so long that he'd missed a memo about the desk rearrangement.

When he finally gets to his desk, the first thing he takes it is the fact that there's actually stuff on it. Like trinkets and toys and a nameplate that says someone else's name.

And there's _someone_ in _his_ seat. At _his_ desk. Where _his_ stuff _isn't_.

He blinks and awkwardly clears his throat, alerting the young lady hard at work at a sketch panel. Behind her glasses, her eyes flick up first then her head follows. When she gets a full look at nerdy Steve in his pressed khakis, plaid button up, thick rimmed glasses, and messenger bag, she gasps.

"Hi," he gets out and points to his - _her_? - desk. "Hate to disturb your work, ma'am, but this is kinda _my_ desk."

"Oh, wow," she fumbles to stand and ends up bumping her knee on the way up. Steve winces for her as she fixes her cardigan and adjusts her glasses hurriedly. "Um, _hi_. You're Steve Rogers."

"All day long," he says and snorts loudly when she laughs. "Um, we know me, but may I ask who you are?" Something about this girl seems very familiar. He's sure he's never seen her before, but something in her face and how her voice rings when she talks is nudging at the back of his mind.

"I'm Kate," she introduces herself, hand extended upward instead of forward since she's much shorter than Steve. He sighs and takes her hand politely and shakes it.

"Well, hello, Kate," he says slowly, still very confused. "I haven't been here in a while and it's been a bit tough navigating around the office, but I'm pretty sure this is where my d-" \

"Oh, I'm sorry for being vague," she apologizes sweetly, lets his hand go, and taps her forehead knowingly. "_I'm_ your new assistant. Well, I'm not _new_. I've been here a month or so-"

"_Assistant_?" He echoes, staring at her with shimmering eyes and an amused smile. Has he been gone so long that each artists gets their own assistant? Fury must be making bank to assign an order like this. "Why do I need an assistant?"

Now she's looking from side to side like someone else has the answer. "Does the word 'assistant' bother you? Well, I'm more of a comic consultant. I help you with panels and sending them to the editor," she corrects herself and flails her arms nervously. "Along with getting you coffee if you need it, answering your phones, setting your appointments-"

She keeps rambling on and on before Steve huffs and stops her with a stern, "Kate."

The blonde stops and blinks up at him. "Yes, sir?"

A shiver travels down his spine. He's suddenly very impatient for lunch time.

"Could you just tell me why you're at my old desk? And _why_ I have an assistant?" Judging by the look around, everyone else is busy doodling at their drawing desks and easels without anyone else. Why does he specifically need assistance? Is it because he's been absent? To be fair, his sketches are never late and they get published faster than anyone else's in his division.

"Technically this is _my_ desk now," she tells him, pushing her glasses up her nose. "I can't think of any manager going without an assistant," she blurts out and the second she does, her hands fly over her mouth and she shrinks to the size of a mouse.

"_Manager_?" He repeats, one eyebrow flung up to his forehead. "What are you-"

"I have a_ big mouth_. I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a surprise," she confesses but it's muffled by her hands.

"What's a surprise?"

She uncovers her mouth. "I've said too much already. Fury told me to send you to his office when you got in. He wanted to tell you himself."

"Tell me...?"

Kate's crystal clear eyes look to her drawing as she discreetly whispers in hushed tones. "When I first got here, the old manager for the art and graphics division was quitting, and there was a pretty nasty rat race for whoever would get the promotion. Fury was pretty insistent the position go to _you_. People were pretty pissed since you were _never_ here, but I've looked at your file, and you're _really_ talented. You've got the highest number of commissions than anyone in the division."

Steve takes that in as best he can. First, he has to clarify before getting too excited and smiling all the way to Fury's office. "So, to be sure, what you're saying is that I'm the new art and graphics manager? Like, of the _whole_ division?"

"Like, _you're_ my boss and you sign their checks every other Friday," she nods and gestures her pencil to the artists behind him. "Mine as well. Um, you might wanna see Fury now."

For some reason, he gulps. He's not scared of Fury in the slightest, but his hopes are so high that they're soaring. The news hasn't set in yet. Gulping isn't really the ideal reaction for finding out he's just been promoted to manager of his divisions - it feels too much like a prank. It's almost unreal. What if he's actually getting fired? He's never been anyone's boss before, so what good would he do as a manager? Fury had to be fucking with him.

If it's true, that must be why Kate's at his desk and everyone kept staring at him on his way there.

Taking a steady breath, he nods and sets his bag beside her - _his_ \- desk. "I'll be back," he says quickly and rushes down the other direction to Nick Fury's office.

No one - absolutely no one ever barges into the boss's office unannounced. Steve's a little frantic right now, so honestly that doesn't apply to him right now.

Without even a knock or a warning, Steve twists the knob to Fury's office and pushes right in, adrenaline coursing all through him.

"Alright, if this is your idea of some sick way to fire me," he starts out, pointing directly Nick, staring straight into his one eye while the other is covered by his eye patch. "It's _not_ funny. Like, _at all._ If you wanted me to just start coming in more often, all ya gotta do is ask, Nick, and I will. Just _don't_ fire me," he begs, ears heating up from how hyped he is. "This is the greatest job I've _ever_ had, and I'll come in everyday for as long as you need me to. Okay, yeah, I'll admit I was late this morning 'cus my boyfriend and I got a bit- _no_, ignore that. I'm rambling. Just don't fire me..._please_...Nick...sir."

When he finishes, he huffs out a large breath that he didn't know he was holding. He nods to himself with a pat on the back. That seemed convincing enough, but one could never tell things process with Fury. The man's default expression is usually blank or pissed off which would lead people to believe that's all he feels. He's a tough cookie; for all anyone knows, his frown is really a smile and and an eye roll is his way of crediting a job well done.

Steve's been working for the man almost a decade and the he can recall of anything is a ghost of a grin one time at a Christmas party maybe.

He blinks. Nick blinks back and chews slowly over his salad, staring Steve down.

"You done?" He says grimly after swallowing and stabbing his fork back into a piece of lettuce.

"Yeah. I am."

"Good," he says with mild enthusiasm then puts another forkful in his mouth. He swallows carefully and grimaces. "Wife's got me on this organic food kick. Been eating rabbit food for six months."

It's a pretty random thing to be say, but Steve nods anyway. "Got my boyfriend doing the same," he says naturally, only now realizing he'd just told his boss he's in a homosexual relationship after. Personal relations usually don't fly with Nick Fury. To change the subject off of him, he says, "Didn't know you were married."

"You would if you were in the office more often. Got hitched just six months ago," he says, lifting his left hand to flash the wedding band.

"Congrats," Steve says stiffly. Whoever had the gusto to marry Nick Fury must be tough as nails. Mrs. Fury had to be a spitfire of a woman.

"Yeah," he sighs and snaps a plastic lid over the remainder of his salad and tosses the white, plastic fork in the trash bin. "Love that woman. You married, Rogers?"

What does that have to do with anything? Didn't he just mention he has a boyfriend? "No."

"Plan to be?"

His face turns a even darker shades of red. "It's somewhere in the future."

"Hmph," Nick huffs and nods, wiping his mouth with a cloth on his desk. He does it so slow and snakelike that it sends a shiver right over Steve's spine, giving him goosebumps. "How adorable," he deadpans. "Anyway, I'm assuming you've met your new assistant, yes? Kate's her name - very nice girl, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Steve agrees and sets his hands firmly on his hips. "Which brings me to wonder why in the hell I need one."

"I would've asked Lewis, but I'm afraid that'd get you in a bit of trouble with your boyfriend."

His baby blue snap open to shoot a hard, confused glare at his boss who is supporting a shit-eating grin and a raised eyebrow intended for joking purposes as well as to point out that the amount of flirtation between them is frustrating to nearly everyone in the office. As enlightening as the lowbrow comedy coming from Nick Fury is, it still didn't calm Steve's nerve or give confirmation or denial to what Kate'd told him.

"Does that bother you?" he barks defensively, fully ready to go against Fury if he had a thing to say about his relationship. "Me being in a homosexual rela-"

"Rogers, I wouldn't give a rat's ass if you liked fucking goats unless it'll stop you from managing this division like the talented, diligent, and headstrong artist I know you are," Nick cuts in whimsically, waving a hand about to stop him. "Now, you wanna get your promotion or argue with me about you liking dick over pussy?"

Another thing Steve respects about his boss is how blunt he is. There's no beating around the bush with Nick, but he doesn't always reveal what's real. It's annoying, but a man's gotta have his secrets. Steve was about to mention he actually identifies as bisexual, but it's irrelevant and Nick takes Steve's calculated silence as a yes and has begun talking again.

"Anyway, I _didn't_ pick you to be the new arts and graphics manager of this division l because of your sexuality. I would've been damned if anyone on the Council stopped me from giving the position to _you_."

"Why me?"

Nick scoffs with an amused grin; Clearly, that's a dumb question. "Why _you_? Rogers, over the last couple of months, your published panels have made me a lot of money, and brought expansive attention to our comic book branch of which you know is a dying business in comparison to our CGI division. Our sales are through the roof. Don't you check your emails? Your commission inbox?"

He shrugs sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. "Not exactly."

"Well, you should. You're the best selling artist in the office. Fans can't get enough of your _Bird Bros_ characters, Falcon and Hawkeye. It's _genius_. You've no idea how much teenage girls love openly gay, superhero, partners in crime who like birds"

Steve shakes his head. "They're _not_ gay."

"Yeah, because _"I'm with you till the end of the line"_ is something two, heterosexual males say to one another."

His cheeks might burn off with how hot and pink they are. He's a bit reluctant to admit that his relationship had a bit of an influence in his latest works. "So, it's true? I've been promoted?"

"Unless you have a problem with that."

"No, no, I don't... Just what does that mean? Being a manager? So, I come in everyday and, like, what? Manage shit?"

"Your job is to keep your division where it is as well as help it excel. Be a motivator - be the leader I've seen you be in the last to help your team to meet sales and commission goals. You do your job and we can keep publishing comic books," Nick explains simply. "Don't forget to assign projects and constructing new ideas. Kate'll help you keep everything under control."

Taking all this in, Steve nods to himself. Believe it or not, he's already got ideas for future panels and comic book expansion he could pitch to his team. _Wow_... He has a team.

"I'm kinda like Michael Scott, yeah?" He chuckles to himself and keeps nodding. Bucky'd introduced him to _The Office_ probably two weeks ago, and they've binge watched almost everyday in their spare time. They're up to the fifth season.

Fury must not get the reference because his face hasn't changed. His dull expression isn't enough to bring Steve off of this high, so he just laughs to himself and fantasizes.

Nick mumbles something to himself and pushes a button on his office phone. "Kate, will you please show Rogers to his new office? Make some paint samples and carpet swatches handy if he wants to get crafty," he instructs. Kate's bubbly voice emits from the desk and floats throughout the room.

"Yes, sir," she says politely and is knocking on Fury's office door seconds later. Popping her head in, she nods to Fury out of respect and gestures for Steve. "Follow me to your office, Mr. Rogers."

A splash of royalty and reality hits him right in his face on the walk down the hall and through the common office area to his new office. He feels light on his feet, similar to floating on a cloud if he'd ever think it possible be familiarized with such an experience. The stares and mutters on his way in make a hell of a lot more sense now - they see him as their boss now. He actually has power, a _say_...

The feeling of just dominating one person feels nowhere near as intimidating as managing _a whole staff._ It's a feeling he'll get used to quickly enough. He's not sure how quickly he'll get acclimated to coming into the office everyday now - being the boss won't mean much shit if he's not here to do his job. Bucky won't be too happy about having to spend his daytime waiting for Steve to come home. The nine to five lifestyle is apart of adulthood anyway, and it was way too good to be true that Steve got to spend his days working from home with Bucky on access.

This is the first time Steve's felt like an actual grown-up in a while. With the promotion, he could probably afford to actually buy and renovate the house of his dreams comfortably with room to support Bucky and Mischka if the proud brunet would allow him.

Kate leads him to the very edge of the office space to his private room that's privileged him with an overview of his employees and the hustle and bustle of busy Manhattan below his windowed wall. The office is half the size of his apartment equipped with nothing much but an easel, a drawers desk, a monitor atop a computer desk, filing cabinets, and a mini fridge wedged between the cabinet and window. The walls are bare of any decorations as the paint chips off to the dull, heavily stained, dingy carpet. A renovation is in definite order. His new assistant is grimacing along with him in silent agreement till scoffing and setting his bag on the desk.

"I'll get those paint samples for you, Mr. Rogers," she dismisses herself and makes to the door before Steve turns on his heels and clears his throat to grab her attention.

"Um, do you think you could get Tony Stark on the phone? He's usually good at upgrading," Steve asks of her. "Tell him Capsicle needs a favor. He'll know what it means."

"Of course, Mr. Rogers." Kate's blonde ponytail whips about as she turns curtly on her red bottom high heels to exit the office, but he can't quite let her go before getting something off his chest first.

"Call me _Steve_. Mr. Rogers was my father," he tells her and lets his smile shine even though the room is the exact opposite of. "Can't help thinking you've been resisting to ask me about my neighborhood every time you call me that."

The woman's grip around the doorknob eases as she momentarily stares at him like a deer in the headlights, surprised he'd said that. He shrugs with a lazy grin to assure that just because he's her boss doesn't mean he's rebel to being corny as hell.

She laughs aloud and snorts cutely, causing her to cover her mouth with her free hand so another doesn't sneak out. "I was gonna wait till we established more of a friendly, Felicity Smoak and Oliver Queen-ish type relationship circa season season two to make that joke, but I'm glad you did first."

"Glad I could help break the ice," he laughs at himself proudly at the genuinely amused twinkle in her eyes. This chick just might wind up being an even bigger nerd than him. "Lemme know when you get Stark on the phone."

"Yes, Mr. Ro-" she starts, pauses to correct herself as she twists the knob attached to the office door and opens it. "Steve. Yes, _Steve_."

Steve's stomach is grumbling in the process of setting up his new computer to his managerial needs when his office phone chirps up and Kate's voice disturbs him from his work with the message he's been waiting to get all morning.

"Steve, we have a Bucky Barnes here to see you."

Excitement jolts through him. A cute, private lunch with his baby in his bland, new office will somehow be the greatest thing to happen today. It's nearing half past noon now, and all Steve had been able to think about since checking in this morning is enjoying his lunch break with Bucky. Now he gets to be with him in the privacy of his own office versus on display in the middle of the office area.

"_Perfect_! Escort him in." This is truly the highlight of his day. Keeping the chipper tone out of his voice couldn't have been done if he'd tried.

There's a brief knock on his door before Kate's head ducks in and opens it fully to reveal herself and Bucky with a black backpack strapped to his back. He looks irritated, anxious, as well as impatient to be alone with Steve, eyeing the back of Kate's head with a grimace. Steve stands from his office chair to round the desk and greet them.

"Steve, your friend, Mr. Barnes, says you guys have a lunch date scheduled," she mentions and keeps the door wide enough for Bucky to brush passed her to get to Steve.

"Ah, yes," Steve agrees. "Glad you guys could meet-"

All it takes for their eyes to lock for Bucky to drop the bag without a care or a word, wrap his arms in a vice grip around Steve's neck and force their lips into an aggressive, teeth clinking kiss that catches the blond off guard. His eyes bug out wildly at the gesture and responds accordingly with tentatively setting his hands on Bucky's hips to keep them upright. Bucky's tongue loops and swirls around his while their lips massage in a frantic, horny rush against the other's.

If Bucky's anything, he's conspicuous. _Especially_ when it comes to _his_ Steve.

It's when Bucky moans in the back of his throat from biting at Steve's fat bottom lip does Steve take control of the kiss, and uses his grip on Bucky's hips to ease him off of his body to maintain a sense of professionalism in front of his blushing assistant. To say she's flustered is an understatement - must've been Bucky's goal the whole time since he looks a little bit too smug and satisfied with himself as Steve glares, curious and pupils blown, as he wipes saliva from his chin.

"Um, lemme know if you guys need anything," she says quietly and bites her bottom lip bashfully. Steve doesn't get the opportunity to respond before Bucky puffs his chest forward and wraps his arms around Steve's neck again, never letting his guard down even though Kate's not a threat.

"Thanks!" He exclaims with all the fake he can muster. "_My boyfriend_ and I will let you know if _we_ need anything.

The young lady pushes her glasses up her nose and gives a tight, faint smile before backing out and shutting the door with a click. When she's gone, Bucky drops his arms from around Steve and rolls his eyes, annoyed yet victorious, towards Steve. He's frowning with his arms crossed, but his eyebrows are wiggling like he's entertained.

Innocently, Bucky's eyes turn to saucers. "_What_?"

"Kitty's got claws, huh?" Steve quips and leans his rear against the edge of his desk, making him and Bucky eye level. "_Rawr_." He puts a paw up and scratches sassy-like at the air.

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"You're such an asshole," Steve asserts with a low and grumbling laugh. Bucky smirks and kisses him for real this time. "That's literally the sweetest girl _ever_. Why ya gotta be so mean to her? She's just helping your boy out."

"Yeah, and she can do that _without_ wearing makeup, a tiny skirt, and fruity perfume," Bucky insists and swerves his neck to glance at him sideways. "When Darcy directed me to her and I came to her desk, _your_ girl was going on and on to some other employees about _how cute she didn't expect you to be_ and _how tall you are_ and I literally wanted to puke."

"She thinks I'm cute?" Steve teases, and Bucky purses his lips in a pout to express his lack of humor in the situation.

"No, for real, Stevie," Bucky whines, slapping his shoulder with his exposed, flesh hand . "She's literally cute for _no_ reason and that's how it starts. You guys start doing little late night sketching sessions and coffee runs and _she's_ bringing you _lunch_-"

"And where are _you_ during all this?"

"In jail on involuntary man slaughter charges if she tries to bring that adorable, fangirl, nerd girl turned hot chick shit _anywhere_ near you."

"Is someone _jealous_?" Steve accuses sweetly, taking a full seat on his empty desk and pulling Bucky between his legs to settle.

"Shut up," the younger man grumbles, arms crossed but still allowing Steve's first two fingers to lift his chin so their eye level.

"Babe, if you're worried, please _don't_ be. That chick's not gonna do a damn thing. And if she does, she's out of here faster than you can think."

The bulging spheres of Bucky's eyeballs track every little twitch and fidget on Steve's face for honesty when he says that. He sighs, believing him. "You promise?"

"I promise."

"Good. Because if it comes to a point where I have to go Beyonće on her and drop a chandelier on her-"

"You won't," Steve asserts and places a line of kisses across his freckles. He's smelling like their favorite cologne. "You won't, baby. I promise that I'm all _yours_. Enough about her. I've got news."

"Before you tell me can you explain _why in the fuck_ your office is this ugly?" He complains and doesn't make himself subtle in turning his nose up at the drab of their environment. "I mean I know you _never_ come into work, but c'mon, Stevie-"

"Actually that's part of the news," he answers, excitedly bouncing in place and rocking Bucky from side to side. "Usually, most comic book artists at _S.H.I.E.L.D._ don't require assistants, but, um, I got promoted today to the manager of my division. That's why they wanted me to come in today. I'm the boss now."

Even though Bucky's not aware of the rank in terms of managers at S.H.I.E.L.D, his smile is still huge and illuminating Steve's whole world when he shows all his teeth in an open mouthed beam. Before either can blink, Bucky's hugging him tight to his chest and squeezing with pride.

"Oh my goodness, babe! That's _amazing_!"

Steve returns the gesture and squeezes him back. "Old manager quit, and Nick, my boss, felt the position should go to me. I get an office, an assistant, everything."

Bucky rocks them side to side now, face deep into Steve's neck. "_Wow_. That's amazing, baby. I'm so proud of you. Even though I'm not exactly sure of what any of this means, I'm still _so proud _of you. Your accomplishments mean the world to me, you know that?"

There's no way in hell Steve's cheeks are gonna last the rest of the day at the rate he's stretching them to smile and blush. "Bucky," he sighs, suddenly shy.

"No, honey, I mean it," he promises sincerely and rises from Steve's neck to peck him softly on his lips. "I'm really happy for you. God, I'm proud of you. My baby, the manager. You're like Michael Scott."

Steve nods erratically. "Yeah, I know, right?"

The shine in Bucky's eyes is alive and his aura is ecstatically glowing at the news, and it shows with how tight he keeps hugging Steve and looking at him like he's cured cancer. "Guess we won't be spending our days together anymore, huh?" He guessed, sounding a little upset, but remaining pretty positive in light of Steve's achievement.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," he apologizes and holds Bucky's hands and wrists within his palms, squeezing and swinging their arms to and fro. "We're about to spend the next two weeks together, and we have the weekends and holidays, too. You can visit me everyday for lunch and help decorate the office if you want. Oh, come on, babe, don't make that face."

His lower lip is quivering, indicating his mood is genuinely dampened by the unsettling realization of not being able to be around his favorite person day in and out.

Every day that Steve's at work means a whole eight hours where they're _not_ together, and to suddenly not be around the person one has spent everyday with for the last four months with is a drastic change - especially for someone as sensitive as Bucky who cherishes the seconds he's with Steve and thanks whatever god that's out there that he's been blessed to have such a chance. Maybe it's weird to other people and unnatural to love being around the same fucker every minute of every day without getting sick of them. Steve knows it's probably unhealthy, but if there's a hesitation in himself that wants to _decline_ the promotion so he can just be with Bucky. Yeah, he's _that_ _attached_. He can easily tell Bucky's probably about to cry because he can't be around Steve as often as he'd like anymore. It's bittersweet because he's beyond happy that his boyfriend has gotten such an opportunity in his career, but not being able to sleep in with him, expect breakfast in bed, or spend the day around the city, trying to figure out what to do is really making his eyes tear up and duck down to just stare at Steve's chest.

"Aw, baby. _No_, don't cry. It's okay. _We're okay,_" Steve sympathizes with a low hum as he engulfs the younger man into his arms then placing reassuring smooches onto his scalp. Bucky shuffles closer and let's himself get comfortable in the space between Steve's spread legs. "Baby, don't cry. I'll be, like, thirty minutes from home and you can visit whenever you want."

"Yeah, but you'll be too distracted with work to pay attention to _me_," Bucky murmurs like the spoiled brat he is and huffs out a displeased breath into Steve's ear when he circles his arms around his torso to keep them linked as tight as possible.

"With the money I'll be making as manager, I can comfortably spoil the fuck outta you," Steve mentions playfully to try and elicit at least a grin out of him. Bucky snuggles in closer to nibble the curve of his neck.

"You know I'd much rather have your attention."

"You'll always have my attention. Whether I'm at work or at home. You know if you ever miss me during the day that you can call me."

Bucky sniffles but doesn't let his tears fall. "I don't know why I'm getting _so emotional_ over this. I'm happy. I'm swear I'm happy for you, baby. It's just- I don't know. With you and the kid gone all day, what 'm I gonna do with myself?"

"We'll look up some hobbies for you, okay?" Steve suggests instead of saying what he really wants to which is along the lines of advising he get a government legal job that doesn't involve him doing what he does every night. "We'll find you something to do. Now, no more sad Bucky. I want my happy baby boy. Gimme a smile."

His movements are slow, but Bucky extracts himself from Steve's embrace to flash him a feigned sideways grin. Everything else from his wet eyes to his slouched posture indicates how much he wants to frown and cry, but he won't let himself if Steve's told him to cheer up.

Standing from the desk, Steve plants a wet, open mouthed kiss to his forehead. When he pulls back to check his reaction, there's a somewhat realistic expression of lightening up that is convincing enough to get Steve smiling too.

"There's that smile I love so much. My baby feels better, yeah?"

He nods and puts a strand of hair escaping his ponytail behind his ear so it doesn't get caught in the kiss he leans in for. Steve meets him halfway and closes the interaction, interlocking their lips with a steady ambition. One hand cups Bucky's jaw while the other settles against the small of his back to ease them forward so they can share the same rotation of oxygen and body heat. Bucky complies and keeps them perfectly balanced by grabbing subtle hold of the blond's waist.

Their lips part and play in circles, exchanging saliva and heated breaths in the process. This is so calm yet so erotic. It's a romantic kiss that Steve eggs on with silent urgency in the way he pulls Bucky even closer as if it were possible and cups his cheek now. He moans first and nudges the tips of their noses now, never letting Bucky's lips fall from his.

"I've always wanted to fuck someone in their office," Bucky admits bluntly when he pulls away first, boring that lusty stare into Steve's psyche. "How many lucky bitches like me get to say they've fucked the boss in his office?"

"Hmm," He hums out of ecstasy and hisses into his ear. "You're try'na get me fired before I even do my damn job?"

"_Please_, Stevie," Bucky pleads, pecking at his neck and tugging at the skin between his front teeth, making Steve shiver and surge his hips forward. His voice is up an octave, instantly sounding immorally young and innocent. That's one of Steve's triggers, and he damn well knows it.

"You're the boss, ain't'cha? You can do what you want, right? So, fuck me. Fuck your baby boy right over _this_ desk," he nods behind Steve then to the other side of the room. "Then the wall. Maybe even against that window so _all of Manhattan_ can see how well you take care of me."

"_Jesus_, Buck," he moans and eases a hand into Bucky's tight pants to reveal he's not wearing any underwear underneath. As Steve's hand ventures downward to run it over his ass, the warm, slick consistency of lube coats his fingers. He grins knowingly.

"We don't even gotta take our clothes all the way off, sir," Bucky goes on, easing backwards to try and sink himself onto Steve's middle finger. Their eyes never detach from the other's. "Just pull my pants down and fuck me with them around my ankles, sir. Pull my shirt up just enough so you can feel my stomach and chest contract and release with how hard I'm breathing. Maybe even tear my shirt because you don't wanna grip too hard on my hair, sir?"

"Opened yourself all up for me already, love?" Steve asks, feeling for the dip of Bucky's crack as sliding his fingers towards the hole teasingly in time with Bucky's racing exhales. "You knew I'd say yes and you didn't wanna waste no time getting me to fuck you, huh?"

"Yes, sir," He confesses, eyelids fluttering shut as he grinds himself against the edge of the desk for a faint sense of friction. He gasps into the still air when Steve's finger slides with little resistance through the ring of muscles between his cheeks and hooks sharply. "Wanted you to fuck me the second I got here..._fuck_... Fuck, that's nice..." he whines as Steve smirks and uses his unoccupied hand to unzip and unbutton Bucky's pants so their descent to his ankles is without conflict.

Red at the tip and moisturized with pre-come, Bucky's beautiful cock flops out from it's confines and hangs between them. The cool air of the atmosphere rushes over the most sensitive parts of him, and he shivers with a quick clenching of his ass around Steve's finger.

"Beautiful," Steve comments, shaking his head in wonder that this - from Bucky's dick to the person himself - is _all his_. "So beautiful. Seen a bit of dick in my day, but _this_ is still the most beautiful dick I've ever laid eyes on. So _long_... So _hard_... Just for me, huh, baby boy?"

A high pitched moan slips out of Bucky's throat and passed his lips that are glistening with spit with how much he's licking them and puckering as an invitation for Steve's to touch them. He passes along a quick peck before roughly yanking Bucky forward by his bottom lip so they've no option but to make out again. Bucky whines loudly with has their mouths vibrating and sending goosebumps onto their arms and backs. All the blood in Steve's head races right to his crotch when the tip of Bucky's cock brushes against the zipper of his khakis.

"What was that, baby boy? Can't understand you through all this fucking moaning," he teases, digging his fingers deeper inside and spreading his cheeks so he can insert his index now. The lube drips right onto his knuckles. "You're hard just for me, aren't you? So hard and ready for me to bend your cute ass over and fuck the shit out of you, huh?"

"Y-yes, sir. _Yes_, b-baby... _Fuck_, I'm ready for you to fuck me..." Bucky chokes out, pumping his ass over the relentless fingers driving deeper and harder into him. Steve keeps swirling them till Bucky jerks forward and latches for dear life onto Steve's shoulders for fear of tipping over. A rush travels up Steve's spine when Bucky whimpers helplessly for him to _fuck him please._

"Got myself all open so all you'd have to do is drop m'pants and take me over the desk," he wheezes, doing minuscule bounces on Steve's fingers and suckling his ear lobe into his mouth when Bucky flails himself over Steve's shoulder. "Always wanted to be fucked in an office. Please, Stevie? Pretend I'm a little slut of a secretary who disobeys your orders and sasses you and fuck me like you _can't_ stand my ass."

Their bodies rock in sync when Steve evolves into the heat of Bucky's ass harder and deeper till the man is openly fucking his fingers with pointed, desperate, and aroused glances in Steve's direction that are silent pleads for more. With his free hand, he removes the scarf around Bucky's neck and the glove on his left hand. The hand settles on Steve's hip while his neck is speckled with kisses and tiny, red hickeys forming from how fervently he's biting the damp skin.

"You want me to fuck you? Is _that_ all you want?" He growls, teeth grit tightly and never separating the bottom row from the top. "Just a quick fuck in the middle of the day so you get your orgasm and go home to be a selfish, little boy and demand _another_ _fucking one_ when I get home? _Hmmm_?"

There's nothing wrong with the statement itself, but his Sir is so convincing in pretending to be angry with his behavior that shame and guilt washes over Bucky. He knows he can't lie, though. _Not_ when it comes to Sir. It's the fear of what the fuck'll happen to him if he even _dares_ to be so bold with Steve again. Last time he was out of line, he got the spanking of a lifetime and winced every time he sat down for hours after.

He shakes within Steve's hold and unintentionally whines again because the atmosphere and the thrill of getting caught about to get the shit fucked out of him sets in, and he nearly comes right then. All he needs is for Steve to keep talking to him like this and he could probably explode untouched.

It's a sinful feeling, but it's heaven in regards to Steve.

"Yes, sir," he whimper truthfully, picking up speed as he presses himself harder onto the fingers penetrating his ass. "_Yes_, I want my orgasm, sir... Wanna come so pretty for you..."

"You like being the office slut?" Steve asks, demeaning him, entirely put on but serious nonetheless. Bucky _likes_ this. He _fucking loves_ Steve doing this to him.

The dazed out look Bucky's blinking through is an encourager to keep going with whatever comes to his head first. "You like spreading those legs for everyone in the office? _Huh_? You like letting _everyone_ finger and feel this _tight_ ass of yours?" He chides, possessively keeping his glance by squeezing his jaw and forcing his head to keep facing forward. "Bet you must've slept with everyone in this fucking office, huh, baby boy? Slept with everyone and know you're trying to fuck the boss for a raise, yeah? What nerve of my favorite office slut."

The brunet might as well be melting right into a puddle at Steve's feet with how hot his whole body feels despite the chill of the office sending bumps along his exposed ass. He keeps Steve locked between his cheeks and nods, mouth too dry to respond but that's never stopped Steve from disciplining him.

"_Answer me._ If I have to tell you to use your words like a big boy one more time, I will make sure you _will not_ be able to walk once we're done," he growls against Bucky's panting mouth. The completely devastated look Bucky's giving him says _'please do it'_ and '_please don't_' at the same time. He's scared, but _so goddamn horny it's hurting._

"Yes," he answers but immediately remembers who he is and what they're doing, so he rambles the first thing he can conjure up. "I like being your office slut. I only slept with everyone else in the office because I wanted your attention, sir. D-don't need a raise... Just need _you fucking me_..."

A third finger plunges into Bucky's asshole when Steve licks into his mouth to bring Bucky's dry tongue back to life with one or two flicks. The younger man mirrors the actions being executed upon his mouth to Steve's and moans obscenely loudly as his brain races to stay on Earth since this feeling is taking him straight to Cloud 9.

If Steve's not in him soon, he'll more than likely break out into tears and shamelessly beg until his boyfriend grants him that_ fucking unreal_ dick of his.

His hands have been twitching to touch Steve the right way, so he takes the initiative to undo his (_are you really wearing those, Stevie?_) khakis and unzips the zipper downward so he has just enough room to dive into the band of his pants and grip him through his boxer briefs.

"_Dammit_," he grunts, caught successfully off guard at how fucking nice it feels to have his dick stroked by metal fingers. His baby blues flit back for a second out of pure pleasure till he rolls his eyes in mock annoyance to continue reprimanding his office slut.

"Baby boy, y'see what ya doing t'me?" He whimpers in that natural Brooklyn accent. It slips out every once and a while, particularly when he's Sir. It results in Bucky steeling himself not to come right then and there at the praise he receives through that damn drawl. "See how hard y'got me? _Your_ sexy ass did _that_. Got me damn near coming in my fucking underwear with how _bad_-" he pumps his fingers in and out of Bucky rapidly for emphasis, "-I need to wreck this pretty ass of yours. Where do you want it first, love? Hmm? Want me to fuck your slutty ass on the desk? The window? Maybe put you on your hands and knees and keep going you till you're a part of the floorboards. What'll it be?"

All the options set before him send his head reeling. It's fucking delicious and wrong, but they need it. They'll come in seconds, but neither truly care.

He's desperate to the point where Steve's thick fingers aren't enough, and he needs that dick inside of him if he wants to keep living. "W-win-window," he stutters quickly, not paying attention to what he'd chosen and is just pointing lazily at the other side of the room. "Window, sir."

Steve's fingers extract from the wet hole of Bucky's ass and hurriedly pushes him as roughly as he can in a direction Bucky can't decipher because he's so drugged out on the affection and attention that he doesn't mind how hard he hits the glass of the window. Glancing down, he takes in the snow sprinkled all over Manhattan's busy, grey streets and the reflection of his dick and Steve's hanging loose between their legs. Behind him, Steve's nudged his khakis and boxers down and around his spread thighs, leaving his cock awaiting its mission.

Bucky shivers again and extends his lower body outward with his back in an arch, forearms and elbows bracing him against the window, and hips swaying in temptation for Steve. His head is hung only to keep him breathing properly, but looking downward only reminds him of how painfully hard he is. His knees wobble the second Steve's hand makes light contact with his ass cheeks and jingles them for his own enjoyment.

"Such a beautiful ass," he comments, slapping it with gentle, love taps. "Perfect, fat, round ass for fucking. You'll be lucky you'll be able to walk after what I'm boutta do with this pretty, little thing." A lone finger runs right between the cheeks and over the crack, spreading the remainder of lubricant around, getting Bucky frustrated all over again and willing himself to be still and obedient because he knows how much his Sir loves it when he is absolutely stationary when they do it doggie-style.

"I'd hate to see a pretty ass like this get hurt, though," he mutters and experimentally squeezes a cheek. "I hope you brought protection, baby boy."

An unintentionally hurt sound fills the room at the sentiment of Steve's words. Despite being in predator mode, he's still the caring fucker Bucky's so goddamn in love with. The lube and condoms are in the backpack, but he's too eager to get his fix _now_ to bear the thirty seconds it'll take for Steve to go all the way to the other side of the office and get their essentials. He knows Steve'll be really upset about him lying and putting his pleasure before his safety so he nods reluctantly.

"In the front pocket of the backpack," he tells him, sniffling over unshed tears because the ghost feeling of what he's about to receive is making his asshole spasm and flutter with empty need. He's_ so exposed and open_ to Steve... It's making him quiver. Steve notices as he crossed the room to rummage through the front pocket of the bag.

"_Please_, baby..." Bucky cries hopelessly, nerves rising and nudging from sheer embarrassment of his unbridled want for someone who's just a few feet away being so out in the open for Manhattan to see. Out of nowhere, he gets upset about the display and begins to beg. "_Please_ hurry..._please, it hurts.._."

"It's okay, baby boy," Steve assures him lovingly and patiently as he grabs the plastic, gold wrapped condom and travel sized bottle of lubricant. When Steve's head turns back to the window, he frowns at how uncomfortable Bucky looks with his current position. His stance is tense and almost unwilling, eyes drooping and twinkling with tears, lips quivering, limbs shaking like an unsteady fawn - these are the tells that while he's aching to be touched and at the same time, they're clear signs of fear. His line of sight is directed to the bustle of people below. The thrill of fucking against the window in the first place was so that'd they'd be seen, but now...

Bucky's paranoia is weaving in and out of his common sense, nudging and informing him this is a _bad_ idea that he shouldn't have agreed to when all he wants is this - being with Steve - to _himself_. Sharing Steve is the last thing he'd ever do; The idea isn't as thrilling as if once was a few moments ago.

His poor baby boy's already so exposed with his "job" and if sex isn't something he can keep sacred, sex _with Steve_ will cherished over anything besides his daughter within his personal life.

"Bucky," Steve calls to him, breaking character to coax him over to the desk where Steve's put the lube and condom down and taken a seat in his chair. "Bucky, baby, c'mere..."

As soon as the commands in the air, Bucky's backing away from the window and doing an awkward, penguin shuffle over to Steve. His cocks flopping around with each bounce in his steps till he's within Steve's vicinity, and the blond rises from the chair to take him in.

"You okay, love? We don't have to do it against the window if it makes you uncomfortable," he whispers to him, one hand massaging relaxing circles into his shoulder blades while the other strokes fully over Bucky's warm cock to keep him hard.

"The desk. Or the wall," Bucky suggests through exaggerated moans. "Fuck, it doesn't matter. Just _not_ the window, _please_..."

"Okay, baby boy. _No window_," he agrees back and nods to him. "Just _us_, alright? Give Sir a kiss," he instructs, but dives in anyway before Bucky can even lift his head. They tongue each other for a second till the kiss gets so hyped their cocks brush together just enough to relieve a sliver of the arousal coursing through their veins. Bucky stutters over an exhale and clings to Steve's arms.

"Sir? _Steve_..."

"Yes, love?"

"Am I really your favorite office slut?" He asks, hopeful. Steve thinks that over and kisses him again.

"Office _pet_," he corrects, never detaching their lips. "My favorite, little secretary who I've been crushing on since his first day here and waited, like, four, long years before finally getting with..."

"Thinking about The Office again?" Bucky chuckles into Steve's mouth and hugs him close. Steve shifts them closer to the desk, hand never leaving Bucky's dick as he does. Bucky's tailbone eventually bumps into the edge of the wood and they stumble over each other before laughing and regaining their balance.

"Put the condom on me," Steve asserts and points to their essentials on the desk. Without unlocking their lips, Bucky feels behind him on the desk till he grabs hold of the condom then the bottle. They only part so Bucky can rip his teeth into the wrapper and tear it open. Tossing the gold wrapper to the side, he scoots back into a sitting position on the desk so he can place the condom at Steve's tip and unravel the latex along his length with three brief strokes. Steve grins and goes against resistance to cup his face for another round of kisses. Those sweet, plump lips of his are at Bucky's earlobe now, biting and giving his directions.

"Spread some lube over my cock, Bucky baby," his voice is low and guttural. "Put on just enough so we won't hurt you. Get y'self nice n' wet," he continues, nothing but Brooklyn creeping out of that strong timbre of his.

His voice is deep and demanding when they get like this, and it reminds Bucky of the safety of their apartments with the fire placing going and Steve's candles burning, scenting the air. It's like a blanket of protection that he drapes over Bucky whenever he's too strung out and weary to do something by himself. It's Sir as much as it is Steve, and that's exactly what brings Bucky to his limits and edges in terms of the overlapping feelings he gets when it comes to their relationship. It's things like the sound of his voice saying cautious stuff like_ "...so we won't hurt you"_ that make him shudder with the pressuring amounts of love he has for Steve. It makes them feel so together. It's cozy.

Obeying, Bucky pops the bottle open with a snapping sound and applies a generous amount along Steve's cock and rubs so it's evenly spread over the width of him. For good measure, he massages the excess between his ass then removes his pants from around his ankles and over his boots.

"You ready for me?" Steve wonders, scooping Bucky up with a heave in his legs so that the brunet's hovering over his erection.

"Yes, sir," Bucky replies quietly and lowers himself in Steve's arms till the tip pokes against the crease in his ass, and he feels the need to hold tighter to Steve. "_Fuck_, put it in, Stevie..."

"Shh, baby, I've got you."

Arms supporting Bucky's thighs, he uses his hands to grip between each cheek and pull to spread Bucky wide open, laying him bare for only them two to see, just how they'd wanted it to be. How it's _always_ meant to be.

Their eye contact never diminishes as they work in tune with each other - Bucky sinks lower against his man's sturdy torso while Steve pumps his hips upward until the head of his rock solid erection is securing itself in the dip of Bucky's body and poking at the slippery entrance.

"_Ohhh_," Bucky whimpers and flexes his asshole so Steve enters smoothly and pushes with no trouble till he's about four inches deep. Head already swimming, Bucky tosses his head back and tries to take the whole thing, but Steve's got him laid out on desk now with his long legs over those broad shoulders, dick hard and level with Steve's belly button.

Steve resists moaning by piercing his bottom lip with his front teeth and resumes pushing in the tight confines of his baby boy's expanding hole. He's keeping upright with balancing his weight on one arm against the desk while the other is keeping Bucky open with every inch he's urging in.

"Beautiful. So tight and beautiful, huh, baby boy?" Steve talks him through it when they reach the brink and Bucky's mannerisms go spastic. He already moaning, fucked out till the point of just shrieking for Steve to not be gentle and just wreck him.

Steve pulls his hips backwards slowly, dragging his dick out in the process, then thrusts back in sharply, getting Bucky to answer. "_Sir_," he yelps. "Yes, sir. Tight only for _you_."

Five dragged out thrusts later and Bucky's on his elbows, pouting and begging for him to keep going. He's so full and so happy being filled to the brim with nine fucking inches worth of Steve's affection. Like a worm, he's wiggling against Steve impatiently, growling indecently at the disgusting little smirk on Steve's dumb face.

"You're really gonna tease me?" Bucky whines.

"Shut up, babe," he retaliates and quickens his pace gradually, sticking his bottom lips out as tease for Bucky to bite it. "Shut the fuck up and let your Sir take care of you."

To prove himself, Steve pushes in again with a new found vigor in his actions, making Bucky cry out and dick leaks against his lower abdomen. With his eyebrows pinched inward and mouth falling open to spill out whorish whimpers, Bucky's breath hitches at the sight and feel of Steve forcing himself in and out, only gaining speed every other stroke. The only words to describe what's happening to Bucky is evil ecstasy. Steve's being a mocking, little shit that is acting like Bucky's orgasms doesn't mean a damn thing to him, and it's sending Bucky over the edge. He's growing so frustrated at feeling _this good_ with it but still greedily wanting _more_. Instead of complaining, he willingly receives what his Sir's giving him because as promised, he'll take good care of him no matter how tortuously slow he's going.

"_Fuck_, Steve... D-_don't_ do this to me," Bucky's crying out, blinking back a fresh batch of tears that will shed very soon if Steve gonna keep being this mean. "Fuck me, sir. D-don't go sl-slow... _Fuck me_. _Really_ fuck me. I'm _not_ gonna break. Not a fucking toy, so don't treat me like one. Fuck the life outta me please, sir? _Fuck me. Now._"

Astonished at how bold his baby's being, Steve smirks and vocalizes a surprised scoff at the nerve. Little does this impatient motherfucker know that Steve's made a mission out of having him stumbling with his come leaking down Bucky's legs by the time they're done.

But if he wants to be a rude brat about it, then he'll treat him just like that. He's gonna get the royal office slut treatment courtesy of Steve's cock.

Steve'll give in.

But first, he needs to make this guy suffer some more.

Catching Bucky off guard, Steve viciously snatches the younger man up by his bun and pulls till him by the hair to get his whole upper body sitting upward, fully seated in front of Steve's heaving chest, cock still buried deep inside. Bucky shouts out in shock and fear, but doesn't move away when he sees the amounts of trouble he's in when he glares dead into Steve's wicked stricken blue eyes.

"So, _what_?" He growls, shoving hard as fuck into Bucky's body without warning. A single tear fleas from behind Bucky's eyelids. This is just what the fuck he'd wanted. "You think you're tough now 'cus you can take _nine inches_ in that tight, pink hole of yers?" he teases, stroking Bucky's dick thoroughly with each word, carding the sweat on Bucky's wrinkled forehead into his wavy locks, causing his hair to crinkle under the pressure of Steve's fist.

"N-no, s-"

"I told you to shut the fuck up already, and if I have to say it again, I will make you regret even coming to see me today," he growls angrily, the tips of their noses smudged flat against each other's. Bucky and Steve know this is all heavily put on, but it doesn't make Bucky any less turned on and emotional. He nods obediently and tightens his lips together to muzzle the agonized whimper he wants to let out. _Shit_, he needs this side of Steve _so badly _thatit's making him so _empty_ even when he's _so full._ The guy's cock is pulsing like an electric current inside of him, but judging by the savage character he's using on Bucky, he just sits there in Steve's hold not even daring to move.

"Bucky," he goes on, "you _don't_ want this. You're _not_ ready. You're _not_ what you think you are. You're _not_ ready to _get fucked._ Truly _fucked_," he enunciates his words to parade no evidence of fucking around and at first, it's kinda ridiculous to think Bucky can't take a good dick in the ass, but judging by the dangerous overcast of titillation and torture to come flashing over Steve's hard face, he's not in a teasing mood at all, so the smirk Bucky's facial muscles were going to give quickly vanishes out of reverence.

"_Stevie_-" he whines defiantly only to get roughed up by Steve's calloused fingers yanking roughly on his hair right at their roots.

"Shut up," he says warningly, gulping with his Adam's apple bobbing as he does. "You have_ no_ clue what it means to get _fucked._ I'm talking hair pulling, baby boy. Sweating bullets and breathing on each other's skin... You don't know shit about that, _do you?_ You think you do just 'cus you survive getting my cock in your ass and being spanked around a little but you're literally all talk and no actions when it comes down to it. Your spoiled ass wouldn't know a good fucking if it stared you in the face...

"I'm talking about being pushed to the limits you didn't even know you had. You _don't_ wanna stop, and you begin to beg and plead for your partner to go _faster_, go _harder_, go _deeper_, right, baby? Being forced to the point where you can't even _speak_ or _think_ right. You've no control in your body and all you wanna do is look that person in the eye, right in their damn soul -" Steve takes his time easing out and slamming back in as aggressively as he can without truly hurting Bucky. Their balls slap together and send an echoing sound throughout the office. The other man yells out and his toes curl inward at how devilishly sore his ass feels being driven into the hardwood of the desk as well as his assholes throbbing repetitively on Steve's dick.

"-then scream their godforsaken name a thousand times because that seems to be the _only_ word in your vocabulary at the moment. You'll swear you won't be able to contain it - you can't take it, and you'll beg me to stop 'cus it hurts _so fucking good_. Before you know it, baby boy, your brain'll convince you there's no better feeling. Won't take long till you're swearing you'll die of pleasure because all you can think about in those few moments before you come all over each other is not being able to bear the fact that it's _almost ove_r..."

Bucky's jaw clenches, biting down on air. "Sir..._Mmm_...pl-_please_..." he begins to beg, heartbroken, eyes fluttering to a close.

"No, no, I'm not done yet, baby boy," he soothingly interrupts Bucky's dismaying pleads. "I know your body better than you, and I find it downright _adorable_ that you think you know what you need when it comes to us having sex, sweetheart." The gibing is sentimental, but still effective because Bucky's shame is highly evident. He's held solid in his spot by Steve's death grip on the whole left side of his hair while Steve humps in and out at a steady pace, getting their thighs slapping together with each push. Bucky groans and thanks him in his head. He's being much too gracious to keep on pleasing his boyfriend with exactly what he wants.

"You wanna be fucked to the point where your body, mostly your cock, is being rocked so nicely that your back arches, your knees go weak, your legs shakes, and you rip through whatever material you and I are fucking on by how hard you're gripping it. It feel so damn good that you've lost complete control over what comes out your mouth and you call me '_Daddy_.' Ain't that right, baby boy? Like calling me Daddy?"

Bucky can't answer even if he tried. He's sipping in the drops of sweat dripping from his own face and Steve's. Each second that passes is another second his abused hole get stretched wider and looser like the perfect slut he's vowed to be for Steve.

"_Fuck_..." Bucky cries, tears descending his face while Steve's thumb wipes it away and lets him taste it. The cock going in and out of him travels harder and deeper, hitting his prostrate in the slightest and he's halfway to jumping out his damp and fiery skin if Steve decides to go any faster than the easy rate they're going right now.

"And I pound you harder by your request till _you come first._ You _always_ come first, baby boy. _Always_," it's a choked out, enticing promise that Steve'll keep if he plays his cards right. Breaking down, Bucky can't help releasing the pent up pressure in him by letting flesh fingernails dig into the bare skin of Steve's hips. He'd hang his head to avoid Steve seeing the tears that fall from his face, but he can't look away from him like Steve's the gateway between heaven and hell. He cries more and hiccups a little before snuggling in close to Steve's face and biting his lower lip.

Steve's voice is still predatory, but his tone is more gentle. "Then I'll come inside you, baby boy. You'll like how it feels to have my warm come leaking out of you, filling you up so prettily. After we calm down, you'll be too tired to say anything so you'll allow me to pull out of you and get you all cleaned up. And if I'm cruel enough, I might leave right after. That's being _fucked._ Is _that_ what you want?"

The tears coming out of Bucky's eyes are full and fat, rolling like raindrops down a window off his jaw and chin. "Sir..._Stevie_...oh God, baby..." He's rambling, terrified to death of what Steve's doing to him. His body's shaking like he's being tickled while he struggles to meet Steve's thrusts without coming all at the same time. The hope is lost so he results in tugging on buttons of Steve's shirt just to relieve pressure and unveiling the white t-shirt underneath. It's fucking soaked and almost sweated, protruding Steve's muscular tits and pink, round nipples. Watching them bounce is something Bucky can get his rocks off to, but right now he just needs to be kept safe and squeezed tight between them.

"Go 'head and tell me, baby. Tell me what you want," Steve encouraging him, rocking hard and rough into Bucky's hole with no courtesy to how loud the sound of their skin slapping against one another's is. "Tell me you want me to fuck you, and I promise I will. Just how I described."

Their hips slam over and over, harder and faster with each time they're connecting. Steve lets Bucky's hair go to place the same hand around his neck and hold him just tight enough to keep him still. Bucky grips his wrist.

"You still want me to fuck you, my sweet boy?" He moans aloud. It's high pitched and desperate. He's on his way.

They're both drunk off of their scent of sex and pheromones floating in the air. It's stifling hot and the beads of sweat forming at their foreheads and chests aren't doing much to cool them down as well as causing their movements to be uncalculated and sloppy. There's a buildup in both of them that neither hesitate on acknowledging, so Bucky eggs Steve's drive forward by pleading and doing his best to make his hole as nice as possible for him even though he can't even control _himself_ right now.

"Sir, oh god.._.oh fucking god_, Stevie... Please, _yes_!_ Please fuck me_... Please do that to me..."

"_Shit_," Steve growls, choking Bucky's neck each time his tip disappears and reappears within and out of the hole it's drilling. "Fuck, say it. Say you want me to fuck you, slut."

"Oh, _God_!" Bucky shrieks out at the name, chest heaving erratically for oxygen when all he's breathing in is the stuffy scent of he and Steve. His boyfriend's hips are unremitting and resilient in making his ass itself all kinds of sore while his dick is making it so his hole'll never be tight again. "_Please_..."

"Pl-please, _what_?" Steve's mocking him but he's losing all his nerve and edge, seconds from bitching out and just dropping the Sir act because that's how weak Bucky makes him. He wants to carry out the evil plan because he finishes all his missions, but going in and out of what is probably the most addictive ass ever while staring into the eyes of the man of his dreams is eliciting him to break. "Baby, love, you're _so tight_," He adds.

"Fuck me, sir," he murmurs, trying to hide himself in Steve's pectorals but is being restricted by the insistent hand around his neck. Not before long, the entire head of his neglected, swelling cock is drenched in his own pre-come, dripping down onto his belly. "Fuck m-me like you s-s-said you would."

The baby blue of Steve's irises cloud over into something darker at the consent. He gets a handful of shallow thrusts in before lifting Bucky clear off the desk with the strength of his legs as though he weighs nothing. Every other step he takes to the far wall is used to keep fucking him, and as badly as Bucky would love to thrust back, he doesn't. He lets out a pained shriek when his body clanks against the dry wall, but lets his body be used to it's full potential while Steve keeps him bent in half - knees at his ears, ass lifted in the air - and collide against his prostrate each time he exits and enters Bucky's limp body.

"Fu-_fuuuck_," he drawls out, spent and deliberating not giving into his impulse to come no matter how much he needs to. "Fuck, sir... My ass, Stevie..._Mhmmmm_... Cock's so big...right there..."

"Daddy's fucking his baby boy's ass up, huh? Need'ta come, dontchu baby?"

Through tears, Bucky nods and meekly squeaks when his spot is hit harder and harder. "Yes, sir. Need to come... Only come when _you_ tell me to, baby..."

"Mmm...that's what Sir like to hear. I'm gonna turn you around now 'cus I wanna come all over your ass. That okay with you, sweetie?"

The pet name is getting another rope of clear spurt from Bucky's slit. "Come on me. _Please_... Need to feel how warm-"

The rest of his plea doesn't make it out before Steve lets him go and it's a three second free fall to the floor before he's swiftly caught in Steve's arm and pushed to all fours right there on the unswept floor. His knees and palms will bruise for sure, but _nothing_ he'll feel hours after this will even be remotely as prominent as the disrespectful and delicious feeling of being doggy fucked on the floor with his face pushed to the wall, his hair in Steve's fist, while his insides are burning from the friction of his dumb, ruthless, amazing boyfriend's unrealistically fantastic penis. It _doesn't_ get nastier than _this_.

Steve's hunching over him, one knee planted into the hardwood with all his weight while his other leg is extended across the floor. He's deeper this way, hitting against his baby's prostate with no cares to how loud he shrieks.

Bucky's so good like this. Perfectly obedient and submissive in letting Steve do this to him. An_ "I love you"_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it and arches Bucky's back by pressing the heel of his palms deep into his already reddening hips. His back imitates a turtle's protective shell as he keeps rocking in and out, fucking the life out of this guy like a stranger and reacting off of the hysterical noises coming out of him.

"_Fuck_!" Steve shouts and spanks him once, jingling he the fat in his ass. His white shirt rises against the rutting of his hips into Bucky's tailbone, so he lifts it by the hem to watch himself slew in and out, in and out, in and out over and over again till there's a tightening in his balls and Bucky's begging him to stop and not stop within the same slur of syllables.

"Stevie, it _hurts_... _Keep fucking me_, _please_..._auh, oh, fuck.._. Fuck, _fuck_..."

"Gonna come," it's a warning and a question all at the same time. Instead of just venturing himself in, he yanks Bucky back so he doesn't have to. Bucky yells to the ceiling at this and squirms uncomfortably when he refuses touching himself. Looping his arm around while simultaneously putting half his weight on Bucky, Steve's hand jerks him right off, feeling every vein and drop of pre-come glide through his fingers.

"Sir, I'm gonna _c-come..._ Can I _please_ come? I've been a good slut," he tells himself more than Steve like he needs convincing of that he deserves an orgasm.

"Yeah, doll, you have," Steve strains out, shutting his eyes because _he just can't bear this any longer_. He's just at the peak and it'll pique him to no end if he gets there _before_ his Bucky. His hand goes harder against Buck's sensitive cock while his head falls forward into the back of his neck to hide.

It's an interesting game; Bucky won't come unless Steve tells him to, and Steve won't come until Bucky's gotten there first. Seeing as he has all the control, Steve grunts out his permission. "Come, baby boy. Come for me like the good boy _I_ know you are._ Come for Sir_," he commands and Bucky obeys.

Not even a moment later, Bucky's crouching in on himself, forcing Steve to slip out as his cock spews thick, white lines over Steve's fingers, his own chest, and the floor below.

"_Auh_, shit! Shit...oh,_ f-fuck...Fuck...fuck! Steve, I love you!_ Love you...Oh my _god_..." He gasps in relief, crumbling to a twitching ball on the floor while Steve strokes him through it and rips the condom off of himself, semen going in every which direction in the process. Bucky's tears roll fatter and harder down his face with each drop spilling out of him. Steve holds his exhausted body still and jerks himself to orgasm all over Bucky's sobbing, spastic form, primarily on his hip so that it drips along his waist and right into the puddle Bucky's created on the floor.

"Goddamn, baby boy," Steve shudders, catching his breath and squeezing out what he can till he's half flaccid. "So good, Bucky baby."

Bucky's face is hidden in the sleeve of his denim jacket as he sobs into the floor. His breathing's evening out but the crying doesn't stop.

It's _not_ unusual for Bucky to get this way sometimes after they've been intimate, but Steve not blind in seeing that he's still pretty bothered. Pulling his bottoms and pants back up, he sighs and clicks his teeth.

"_Baby_," he says first and rubs Bucky's back. "My sweet baby, can I get you cleaned up?"

His boyfriend shivers repeatedly through a series of nods. He points a metal finger to his backpack. "Hand wipes in the bag. Underwear, too. Get those, please."

"Thought of everything, huh?" Steve jokes, kissing Bucky's cheek before getting to his feet and taking short strides to the backpack to rummage through it. After getting the hand wipes and his boxers, he takes out the plastic containers holding their lunch to put on the desk which looks like spaghetti and garlic bread. He grins faintly - Bucky actually cooked for him.

He grabs Bucky's pants on his way back over to where Bucky's laying on the floor. His whole essence just looks so small and screams for attention when he's curled up and exposed with his red, abused ass out like this. _You did that to him, Rogers. Poor baby._

Once Steve's kneeling beside him, Bucky turns over and curls into the safety of Steve's body, shedding his tears into Steve's lap while his arms loop around Steve's waistline. He inhales dramatically and breathes back out with Steve's name on his dry lips.

"It's okay, baby, I'm here. Just gotta get you cleaned up."

Steve rips the hand wipe out of his tiny packaging and begins to clean his and Bucky's semen from Bucky's hips and the floor. Bucky's forehead is laying right over Steve's crotch, nuzzling his soft penis carefully not for sexual reasons, but because it's what's safe for him.

"Don't want you to leave me," he unexpectedly confesses, pliant as Steve tosses the hand wipes to the side and begins to pull his underwear up his legs. He's in the middle of getting Bucky's jeans up when he understands what he's talking about.

"I'll be just thirty minutes away, Bucky," he's telling him, cupping his face. "I'm not that far from home, love. You can visit all you want. Call me _whenever_. I'm _not_ leaving you."

It takes a moment or two for Bucky to get himself calm enough to agree with that. It's hitting him pretty hard that they'll need to be separated a good amount of time, and it's paining Steve to see or think about. No way they can do this. They're far too attached and in love with each other to do this; Steve's gotta have a chat with Nick about his schedule once he gets settled in.

"Now, what'd I tell you, huh?" He pretends to reprimand him and kisses both his cheeks twice. "No sad Bucky. Remember? Lemme see that smile."

Bucky cranes his neck to flash a sad, shy, fake grin. Steve grimaces back, but he'll accept it for now. He bends forward and kisses his cheeks again.

"You wanna eat now? I'm starvin,'" he says and carries Bucky just as he had that morning to the desk where they finish the entire dish of spaghetti and garlic bread in record time. (What can they say? Sex makes them hungry.) Soon after, Bucky's fast asleep atop Steve's desk while Steve paces the room languidly on the phone with Tony about fixing up his office.

* * *

As suspected, Steve being gone in the middle of the day puts quite a damper on Bucky's attitude.

They've actually been fighting more often because of it and usually over nothing in particular. Bucky's usually the instigator while Steve's the martyr who lets him win because he knows he's just taking his annoyance out on Steve because he can't physically take it out on his job seeing as though it's intangible.

Fighting is a heavy word to use. It's more along the line of Bucky being pissy about something he wouldn't before Steve got his promotion and Steve'll try to make him feel better instead of baiting back with a sassy retort. That'll annoy Bucky even further and next thing they know, they're both frustrated and passive aggressively eye fucking each other while butting heads with snide comments that don't solve anything. Bucky's tattled to Sam about it before Steve could get to him, and to put it simply by Sam's diagnosis, the honeymoon phase is fading and they're a regular couple now.

The separation in the middle of the day does nothing for them. It's funny because the one thing Bucky wants is the one thing he pushes away whenever Steve's around. He doesn't mean to take his heat out on Steve. Not seeing him makes Bucky take it out on him, ironically enough.

He apologizes profusely when he knows he's in the wrong, but it's not often because he's proud and Steve's as stubborn as a ox.

They hate this feeling.

The following week on the thirteenth, Bucky's not a happy camper and for good reason, too.

The _only_ thing worse than being snowed in on their two month anniversary was having to cancel the plans Steve had originally made for them last week due to icy roads and horrific traffic conditions. Steve had insisted that they could still go out, but Bucky gave him the brashest eye roll that silently told Steve to get real and just face that they're here for the night no matter how chipper and positive he is. Steve, being a city boy at heart, knew New York weather better than a farm boy like Bucky, but he knew repeating himself would only upset Bucky more.

Of fucking course, when Bucky _finally_ has Steve all to himself, they can't even go out.

On top of being snowed in on their anniversary, Bucky has a cold from hell. He'd been sneezing the whole night before, waking up every ten minutes to blow his nose or sit by Steve's humidifier. The constant motion of Bucky rumbling around uncomfortably all night disturbed Steve, so naturally, they didn't get much sleep and they're less than nice about it. Earlier that night when the roads had been shut down, Steve advised Bucky to take a nap to ease himself and in a very congested, annoyed voice he told him to go fuck himself. Without much energy in him to come back with something sympathetic, Steve simply stares at his boyfriend with a bored expression, snorts, and responds with a crass "Why would I when I've got you?"

If this is how the night's going to go, they really had no business paying Kitty to watch Mischka for the night. Whatever kinky shit they'd saved for tonight was out the window and even though they're getting on each other's nerves, there's honestly no other place they'd rather be.

Fifteen minutes into _Home Alone_, neither men have said anything to the other. The windows closed, the heat's on, and Steve's got Yankee Candle's Christmas Eve aroma around the living room - to not only keep them warm but in the holiday spirit - yet Bucky's still shivering on the opposite end of the couch. He's bundled up in a pair of black basketball shorts under Steve's sweatpants, a beanie, socks, a sweatshirt and two blankets, yet his teeth belligerently chatter no matter how tight his jaw is clenched.

Much like Rudolf, his nose is red from blowing it every second and his skin is pale and probably cold.

He's _so beautiful_.

As nerve wracking as the man is when he's pissed and sick, Steve can't help but have a heart of gold with a weak spot for his Bucky and get up from the couch to make the rude fucker some tea.

He watches Bucky from the kitchen and the brunet stays in his spot, so dead set on ignoring Steve that he doesn't even turn his head to watch whatever Steve's doing. It takes ten minutes for the water to boil and after he's let it cool down, he dips the stress relief tea bag into the holiday themed mug decorated with ceramic snowflakes, adds sugar, and stirs honey into the mixture. Before bringing the tea into the living room, Steve goes into his pantry when Bucky's junk food is stashed and retrieves Oreo's.

Bucky still hadn't moved when Steve re-enters the living room, snacks in tow, but his head only perks up to look at his boyfriend when he shoves the mug at him. That action plus Steve's grumpy pout and impatient hand on hip stance is basically the physical translation of _'I care about you ya piece of shit_.'

Bucky grabs the hot mug with his metal hand with no problem, brings the drink, thick steam evaporating from the top, to his face and slurps, never breaking eye contact with Steve. The steam gets color returning to his stone still face, but Steve doesn't miss the smirk that says _'thanks asshole.'_

Still not speaking, Steve plops back to where he was sitting before, opens the Oreo packaging and offers the whole tray to Bucky. The gaze in his eyes checks hard over Steve like it's a trick if he'll indulge, but eventually he takes a cookie and eats it.

Half an hour and a mug of tea later, Bucky sets the cup on the coffee table before them and wordlessly crawls his way into Steve's lap. Steve's surprised but he doesn't protest while his boy gets adjusted comfortably and spreads the blankets across the two of them as best he can since their a bit too tall for the positioning. They practically sink into each other and even though Steve can see a fraction of the TV because Bucky's blocking it, he doesn't complain and kisses along the nape of Bucky's neck with wet, chaste kisses that he puts no pressure into.

"I'm sorry I've been getting at you lately," Bucky sniffles out first and eats another cookie. "Just miss you is all."

"I know," Steve says. "I miss you, too."

"I really don't mean to be a brat about it, Steeb. I'm happy as hell for you, but I guess it just dribes me crazy that _they_ get to have you all day like _I_ used to."

_Steeb_. That's the most precious and congested thing Steve's ever heard.

"It's okay, sweetie. When we come back in January, we're gonna find something for you to do so you won't miss me as much."

Bucky nods in agreement and lets himself be apart of Steve by falling deeper into his body and snuggling himself closer to get warmer.

There's something in Steve that's compelling him to mention Natasha. He's not certain _why_. He wants to get it out in the open and leave it 2015 before they take this trip - their first vacation - together.

_What would Natasha do with you? _he wants to ask_. What would Natasha say to make you feel better about this job thing? What would Natasha do to make you stop hurting yourself by doing what you do..._

Steve pinches Buck's glowing nose and whispers it to himself over and over while the movie plays:_ What would Natasha do? What would Natasha do? Am I doing this right?_

_Would Natasha be okay with how Steve treats her husband? Her daughter?_

Bucky shuffles away from the clamping fingers and moans happily into Steve's chest. "I love you, Stevie," he utters and pops another cookie in his mouth.

_God, I love you, too,_ he says in his head but instead pretends not to hear him and steals the cookie from his mouth.


	17. 17

"Ah, Stevie! You got me snow boots!" Mischka exclaims as she tears the shoe box out of the red wrapping paper. The huge grin on her face glows as bright as the fresh fallen snow outside Steve's living room window on the lively Brooklyn streets. "Thank you!" Her tiny arms fly around Steve's thick neck and he smiles back when tickling her exposed sides, making her giggle and excite Carter enough for her to jump off the sofa and investigate what the merriment is about. Bucky pets her lovingly and watches the two of them unwrap the remainder of the gifts.

It's only the nineteenth of December, but what they're doing is what the Barnes's call the "at home Christmas" in which the family opens a handful of random gifts under the tree to avoid lugging around tons of gifts in their suitcases, on the plane and back. Instead of unwrapping every gift, three are left and taken on the trip to be unwrapped on Christmas Day at the beach house. Bucky, Steve, and Mischka have set aside their three gifts and put them in their suitcases so not to be forgotten for their flight in the morning.

In the midst of unwrapping the gifts Steve had gotten for Bucky, the blond keeps the other little presents he has hidden in his closet in the back of his mind so he doesn't forget to show - use them on? - Bucky. The bed restraints and blindfold he could handle using for now, but the collar might take time considering he was iffy and indecisive about getting it in the first place. The anal plug was for himself, but he can't help thinking how nice Bucky's pink, little hole would look stretched out and quivering when it vibrates.

Bucky ends up loving the Doc Martin boots the best out of all the gifts Steve'd gotten him. The thong is the only thing he'd hadn't opened since Steve took it upon himself to put it in Bucky's suitcase specifically for it to be opened at the beach house. He's planning on having a hell of a lot of fun with that as well as the costumes.

"This one's for you," Bucky tells Steve, handing him a large box covered in animated snowflake wrapping paper. "From me. Open it."

When Steve gets a hold on the box, it's heavier than it looks and that gets Steve a little skeptical. The suspicion must transfers to Steve's face because Bucky just laughs and love taps him on the shoulder.

"Don't make that face. It's not gonna jump out at you or anything. Just open it. I think you'll like it. Sam helped me pick it out for you."

"Come 2016, we gotta work on getting you friends that don't know embarrassing secrets about me," he jokes, popping the bow off and throwing it somewhere to begin ripping the paper off. Underneath the fancy wrapping is a white box with tissue paper edges out the sides. Steve immediately snatches the top off and his jaw drops at what he sees when he pushes the tissue to the sides.

"You didn't," Steve gasps and pulls the gift from the box.

"Do you like it?" Bucky's asking hopefully, but Steve's unintentionally tuning him out as he examines with hearts in his eyes the designer, black, leather bomber jacket in his hands.

Weeks ago, on one of he and Bucky's shopping trips, he'd been fawning over this specific jacket in the store window and even tried the thing on. His smile deflated with great disappointment when he peeped the price tag. There's only one way Bucky could've afforded something like this, and it's making Steve's stomach twist.

"Baby, tell me you _didn't_," Steve says again, despite holding the evidence before him. "Y-you didn't, did you?"

The hesitation in Steve's tone of voice doesn't do anything to answer Bucky's question. He knew Steve liked the jacket when he'd seen in in the store window, but he wanted to hear him say he did so he doesn't feel like a complete jackass for spending six-hundred dollars on something Steve wasn't even that crazy about owning to begin with.

Steve just stares like a deer in the headlights at the gift as if seeing it in his hands is too unbelievable to bear.

"You _don't_ like it," Bucky utters under his breath to himself as Steve keeps on glancing between him and the jacket. Mischka's not paying them an ounce of attention as she shows off her new boots to Carter.

"N-no, I _do_," Steve admits when he hears him anyway and places a warm hand to Bucky's thigh. "It's just..." Steve shakes his head doubtfully and puts the jacket back in it's packaging without ever even looking in Bucky's direction because he knows if he does, he'll see that angelic face of his crumbling to bits at what he's trying to say and no one needs that on - almost - Christmas morning.

"Just _what_?" Bucky offers, confusion all over his face. His eyes flicker to Mischka to check if she's still distracted before scooting in closer to Steve and squeezing the hand on his thigh. "If you don't really like it, don't say you do to spare my feelings, babe. I just assumed you'd want it by the way you were looking at it in the store and-"

"No," Steve cuts him off and sighs deeply when he brings Bucky's hand to his lips to peck his knuckles as a way to soothe over what he's saying. "When I say I do like it, trust that I do. It's just-um, y'know, baby, as nice as gifts like this and the watch are, I, ugh, just don't feel comfortable with you getting me expensive stuff."

Bucky's not following, so he scrunches his face up and quirks an eyebrow upward. "You buy me nice stuff all the time. These shoes had to be at least, what, two-hundred?" He guesses, referring to the Doc Martin's. "What's so different about _me_ spoiling _you_?"

_Two-hundred dollars I didn't have to get on my knees for._ Steve swallows. "Yeah, I've always had this thing when people splurge on me. Not really a luxury kinda guy."

Bucky's not buying it, but he won't stop till he gets a sliver of honesty out of Steve. Steve attempts to smile but between the nearly dejected look on Bucky's face and the jacket in his lap, he feels kind of sick. He needs to stop doing this harboring his feelings and keeping the truth from the ones he loves because he's afraid of damaging the relationship mechanism he's growing so accustomed to. If he told Bucky how he felt, that's surely hurt his feelings given he obviously put much thought into the gift.

"There's something you're not telling me," Bucky reads him and takes his hand back from Steve.

Steve shrugs. "It's nothing, baby. Just didn't expect you to spend _so much money_ on me."

"It's not a big deal. The money was gonna be spent on something eventually, so why not on you? I just wanted you to be happy."

"And I am happy, Buck, I really am."

Steve's boyfriend's eyes are fixed to analyze the hell out of him and his sudden discomfort upon receiving the jacket. While Steve may be happy, it's obvious he's fidgety as fuck and beyond okay with the amount of money Bucky's spent on him - _that_ much Bucky can tell.

For now, Bucky takes it and just nods more in understanding than agreement. It's clear by the unimpressed look on his face that he's not convinced by any of the bullshit Steve's trying to spew to him, despite the trusting smile the blond sports to make Bucky believe him. It's a conversation - maybe an argument, who knows? - for a later time that'll be in the privacy between the two of them and not Mischka or Carter.

The jacket's just another thing to add that to the list of secrets and half-truths between them.

Putting the lid back on the jacket's packaging, Steve forces himself to grin and nods toward a few remaining gifts of Mischka's under the tree. He turns away from Bucky to refer to her, but gets Bucky's hand back in his.

"Hey, kid, you wanna open another?" He asks nervously, purposely not glancing in Bucky's direction. All he'll be able to see is his baby boy, on his knees, doing something he doesn't wanna do so Steve can be happy.

Steve being a boldfaced bullshitter and Bucky's money are barely forgotten by the time seven o' clock comes around bringing along white, crystallized cold flakes of sparkling snow descending to the ground while Steve, Mischka, and the Commandoes are back in The 107th, surrounded by red, green and white Christmas decorations and the aroma of gingerbread and mint.

"Do you like what Santa brought you, Stevie?" Mischka asks Steve out of the blue when she finally decides to pay attention away from her new boots.

"I did," Steve answers, reluctantly thinking about anything over than the jacket even though that's all that comes to mind. "Did you?"

"Mhm." She nods and arranges her tilting beanie back to the center of her head. "I'm starting to think Santa's not even real."

Steve would like to say he's surprised, but Mischka's a smart cookie who doesn't really get dazzled by much. The Howling Commandoes don't take the stage for another ten minutes, so he figures he has time to delve into this. This conversation would've happened sooner or later, but he's honored that she shares her thoughts with him.

"Why's that?" He asks, sipping tiny gulps from his glass of beer, ready for her theory. The little girl shrugs and pouts, looking back to her boots in rumination like she's trying to figure how in the hell they'd made it from the store to her feet so efficiently.

"Seems kind of impossible for one guy to give gifts to all the little kids and grown ups and stuff in just one night. He has to have help, right?"

"That's what Rudolf, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blixen are for."

Her head shakes while her eyebrows arch. "They're reindeer. And Santa's fat. Fat guys don't move very quick, so it's _impossible_ for him to give everyone their gifts before the sun comes up."

Steve chuckles and spit out some of his beer. He's gotta give her credit for that one. She's a lot more perceptive than the usual six year old. "What if I'd told you Santa got help from grown ups like Daddy and I?" he asks, wiping the dribble of beer from his chin.

"How?"

"Well, because Santa's so busy trying to deliver toys on time, he has people like your dad and Uncle Clint and me go out and get the toys for you so you'll have them in time for Christmas Day."

It's technically _not_ a lie. That's what Sarah - against Mr. Rogers's better judgement - had told Steve when he first questioned St. Nick's existence. He partially wishes she hadn't bullshit him, so he could avoid being mercilessly tortured in the eighth grade when he mentioned in conversation that he'd asked Santa for a healthy set of lungs that Christmas. However, Mischka doesn't live in a fairytale and is a lot smarter than Steve ever was at this age, so by thirteen, it'll be safe to say she'll no longer indulge in such childlike fantasies.

It's the closest thing to the truth of the holiday. Mischka takes a sip of her apple juice and lulls over Steve's explanation. It looks like she's about to ask something else until she's interrupted and shuts her mouth when a British accent and strong presence that Steve knows better than anything startles the both of them.

"Hello, everyone," she greets and upon turning his head to look up at Peggy, he instead is eye level with a very tall girl of probably age nine or ten standing at Peggy's side with lips as plump as hers and brown eyes just as hypnotizing. The dark brown, kinky, thick texture of her hair, the light skinned hue of her skin, as well as the other mixed European and Afrocentric features must mean she's biracial.

Half of her resembles Peggy and the other must be Gabe - this must be Mikayla, their daughter.

This has to be a dream.

Memories flood back to Steve the instant he lays eyes are her, and if his chest tightening along with his excessive gulping of the saliva that's clogging his airway isn't any indication of a fucking anxiety attack, he's not sure what is.

He pushes through it, tearing his eyes away from the child to Peggy who has no signs of guilt or conflict on her immaculate face. That makes him even more anxious. Why's she doing this to him?

"Hi, Aunt Peggy! Hi, Mickey!" Mischka's saying happily, but it's muffled to Steve's ears. All he can register is his daugh- _Bucky's_ daughter is waving to the other two looking just as cheery as ever while the older girl waves back politely and says something along the lines of "Hey, Natalia!" Everything's moving way too slow to be real, but Steve stays silent anyway to avoid vomiting.

The girls and Peggy exchange a few words for a minute or two before the British woman rests a hand on Steve's shoulder to shake him from the deep depths of his thoughts. He jumps at the contact, but glances up at her. Her smile is thin, but she manages to still look inviting even when she doesn't look away from Steve to refer to her daughter.

"Mikayla, why don't you and Natalia go to the office and hang out for a bit before the band comes on, yeah?" Peggy suggests, nodding towards the bar.

"Okay," she says obediently and reaches for Mischka's hand to drag them backstage, but the six year old resists before nudging Steve's shoulder for his attention.

"Can I go, Stevie?" She asks unexpectedly, awaiting permission. All he can do is gape and nod his approval before her and Mikayla skip off hand in hand through the crowded bar to the backstage area. Once they're out of sight, Peggy's sitting on the other end of the rounded booth where Mischka was. Steve's confused, but he's polite enough not to express his dilemma with what just occurred.

Instead, he just stares Peggy down and prays she talks first.

She does eventually after realizing Steve has no words to offer since what just happened, the situation with Bucky's money, and leaving Brooklyn tomorrow are enough to shut him up to suffer in silence.

"Rough day?" She guesses smartly by the look on his pale face and upright posture.

_What're you doing to me?_ He nods. "I guess."

She sucks her teeth deprecatingly and shakes her head. "Happens to everyone. Any plans for the holiday?"

Forced, anxious, small talk with his emotionally terrifying ex about going two hours away to some private island that isn't his Brooklyn apartment is that's the last thing he needs right now, but he's selfless and dignifies her with a response anyway.

"Buck's family and I are, ugh, going up to Bahamas till New Year's." His throat feels tight, making his vocabulary is limited. No need to use more words than what's necessary because there's a gnawing in the back of his mind advising that if he did, he actually make a scene and go off on Peggy to distract attention from the voices running around in his head. That wouldn't be right, despite her not-so-obvious, partially accidental, tortuous way of informally letting Steve meet her and Gabe's daughter.

He'd _never_ think he'd see that child again. She's _so tall_ and _so pretty_ \- just like her mother. Just how it was _always_ supposed to be.

"Sounds like a bit of fun," she's commenting, poised and completely together in how she speaks to Steve while he's battling with himself to not pour his heart out about what Bucky did and how with each passing second that counts down to their flight tomorrow, he doesn't want to leave his apartment and certainly not for two weeks.

"Excited?"

He actually laughs and checks the clock to see that the band is set to perform in seven, short minutes. That's how long he had to pretend to be okay, so he can cheer his best guy on and forget that he's a mess for just a few songs.

"Not exactly the word I'd use."

"I was going to say you don't look very happy for someone who's about to get out of little ol' Brooklyn for the next two weeks," she mentions coolly, putting a loose curl behind her ear then setting her hands on the table right before Steve's. He fidgets and removes his own to dig deep in his pants pockets.

"Um, well... Yeah," he shrugs and gulps another couple of times, but his uvula still feels to be soar and blocking his true words.

_She can't hurt you, Rogers. Calm down. You're fine_.

The pip of her voice sends a tense ring through his ear ways when she speaks up again minutes later. "Steve, are you-"

"_What_ do you _want_, Peggy?" He barks viciously almost instantly to avoid hearing her ask if he's okay because he's not, _he knows he's not_, and admitting that to _Peggy Carter_ of all people is _not_ how he wants to die. "Like, seriously, I understand this is _your_ bar and you can be anywhere you damn well want, but why _here_? _Why're_ you talking to me? We buried the hatchet, already, right? We've moved on. We're _cool_! You don't have to check up, and pretend to be my friend, and care if I'm okay when really you just wanna see me suffer about the fact that your daughter is gorgeous and- _what?!_ _Don't_ look at me like that, Peggy, I don't need you pitying me."

It's rude, he knows that, but if he remembers her correctly, Peggy can deal with rude; She eats rude for breakfast. Her expression switches from shock to concern in a matter of words, and now she's the one staring him down.

"Have you _ever_ known me to pity _anyone_?" She quips, taking her hands back and setting them on her lap. Steve ends up shaking his head in disagreement.

"I didn't pity you when I left, so what makes you think I'll start _now_?" She wonders aloud and rhetorically, rolling gentle eyes with a grin. "And I thought we were friends, Steve. No pretending on my part which is why I ask if you're okay and make shitty small talk and sit with you so we can watch the show together. Also, I wouldn't have brought Mikayla over here if I _didn't_ think you couldn't handle seeing her after so long. Like you said, we've moved on, _correct_?"

And just like that, she makes him feel so small and sorry like he were ninety pounds and five feet tall again. An apology for his outburst is in definite order, but it's lost before he can open his mouth to speak since Peggy's got the floor again. His expression plainly shows how apologetic he is.

"Now, something's bothering you. I haven't seen you in a while, but I can still tell that much about you. You don't exactly have a poker face, Steve."

He frowns. "It's nothing, Peg."

"But there is _something_."

"It's in my head. It's not a big deal," he reasons, but she's not hearing it. He suppresses the unjustifiable need and want to lash out again when all she's trying to do is ease his mind and be his friend. If there's one thing he needs to deal with everything swarming his head is a stern talking to and who better to deliver one than Peggy?

"I don't like seeing you so upset. I've had my fill of that. It might not be a big deal to you, but it clearly is if it's bothering you to the point where you have the audacity to talk to me how you did a minute ago."

"I'm sorry, Peg-"

A single hand of hers halts him when she waves the apology off dismissively and rolls her eyes a second time. "No time for sorry. Just tell me what's bothering you, love. I'm all ears."

It's tempting, but he can't help pulling his eyebrows together with suspicion and tilt his head sideways. "I don't know if-"

"Steve, whatever it is will stay between us. I may not be the best girlfriend, but _fuck_, I am your friend. At least give me that."

She doesn't do it often, but when Peggy cusses, it's serious business. That's compelling enough for Steve to accept her truthful. persistence and open his mouth to let some things out. Halfway through his explanation, his eyes are flickering back and forth from a listening Peggy to the clock on the wall - The Howling Commandos are to set stage any minute now - but he can't bring himself to shut the hell up.

It starts with his promotion. She's happy for him about it, but she listens closely when he rambles endlessly about how he misses Bucky too much during the day which segues into the whole drunk incident on Natasha's anniversary - she was very present in helping out when Bucky'd battled his drinking problems through rehab -and the guilt he feels when he remembers she's gone. He doesn't get too deep into why he'd had his anxiety attack on Thanksgiving, but it throws Peggy off despite being all ears and patiently listening when Steve expresses his true issue with leaving the apartment. Most of it has to do with her and their past - some of it doesn't and maybe it's all in his imagination, but there's not a flash of judgement on her face when he finishes up with telling her about not saying those three sacred words to Bucky because of what she's done to him.

Steve shrugs and takes a gulp of his beer. It felt fucking good to get it all off his chest. Peggy's physically taking in what he'd said with nods of acceptance and downward cast glances to the table while she's figuring out how to respond to the boatload of confessions Steve dumped on her. His hot second of relief is short lived when Peggy picks her head back up and flashes him a friendly grin with aligned, white teeth flashes when she smoothly asks, "And _why_ haven't you talked to Bucky about any of this?"

Several seconds pass by before Steve mentally computes that and a bucketful of feelings wash over him at how simple that question is, yet it's stumped him.

_Why hasn't he talked to Bucky about any of this?_

It's not like they don't trust each other, so why haven't they just sat down and aired everything out?

Is it because Bucky's sensitive and defensive as hell and the moment Steve mentions he's been feeling these things, he'll jump to the worst conclusions and assume Steve hates him and is leaving? It'll trigger his abandonment anxiety and he'll plead that he's a good boy, promising to do better without fully understanding what Steve's saying and where his concerns are coming from because that pretty head of his'll be too consumed with being left alone and rejected similar to how he's been in the past.

Or maybe it's due to Steve being just as needy as Bucky and the fear of filing the slightest complaint will drive Bucky into someone's arms the way Peggy found herself in Gabe's. Maybe Steve's fucking terrified that he'll get fucked up all over again and waste another eight years waiting for another Bucky to come along and save him from lonely nights and insecurity.

_That's it._ There's his answer: fear. Uncertainty.

If he opens his mouth, Bucky will leave. He'll be alone again and someone else will hold his baby boy in their arms the way he used to and appreciate him the way Steve does.

He's miles passed depression; _That_ would actually kill him.

Steve doesn't realize he'd been hanging with his mouth wide open in shock at how easy Peggy's conclusion'd been till he's shaken out of his thoughts by the encouraging clapping and cheering taking over the bar when Bucky and the other Commandos are mounting the stage and getting situated with their instruments. Bucky's at the mic, wearing dark red skinny jeans and the ugliest Christmas sweater he could find in Steve's closet, looking just as fine as ever as his eyes scan the crowd and he announces himself and his band mates. It's never unusual or uncommon when Bucky's eyes transfix on Steve till eye contact is made and he'll wink right before the band begins to play the first song of the set.

In the spirit of the season, The Howling Commandos are doing covers of holiday songs. Bucky's favorite is "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," so it's no shock that what they open with. It's slow, jazzy, and very romantic. Hearing his boy sing it so fluently and passionately is making his heart swell and pump a thousand miles an hour. The crowd is silent and hypnotized by his voice, taking him in for the mass presence he is.

As he's sitting in this booth, listening to his boyfriend's naturally sexy, amplified croon over the surround sound speakers as snow falls just out the window beside him, Steve's gradually coming to terms that he's never loved anyone half as much as he loves Bucky. _Ever_. Not even with Peggy as she sits right across from him, gorgeous as hell, and humming along to the song.

Everything from his worry about leaving for the Bahamas tomorrow and why Bucky hides secrets from him dissipates. It all just disappears - none of it matters at _this_ moment.

He feels so light and airy - his anxiety is down a full notch. "I love him so much," he says aloud, getting Peggy to whip her head around to stare at him with a knowing glare that translates to _"yeah, you do."_

"Dance with me?" she requests instead, reaching over the table for his hand. Before taking it, he cautiously looks to the stage then at the audience. Nearly everyone is cuddled up and cozy together, but something in him won't allow him to dance with Peggy for the first time since dinner last month. It's tempting, but he's thinking of another partner that he's never gotten the opportunity to dance with.

From across the sitting area, sitting at a bar stool adjacent Mikayla and Gabe, Mischka's swinging her feet, antsy, and watching the show. He smiles to himself, turns to Peggy and says, "I'm gonna need a rain check," politely and rises from his seat. He doesn't wait for her reaction when he strides across the bar and reaches the little girl, presenting his hand and clearing his throat. Her cheeks immediately burn reds and pinks when she understands the gesture and results to hiding behind her hair shyly.

"Would my best girl like to dance?"

The little girl giggles and nods, inserting her miniature hand in his and being assisted off the bar stool. Once she's down, she leads the two of them to the middle of the sitting area, settles herself on his toes and curves an arm around his waist while the other is being guided by his hand. They sway slowly and rhythmically with her cheek bunched against his abdomen and eyes shut. He assures she doesn't fall off his toes and keep her safe in his grasp. It's beautiful. They're the only ones dancing, but that makes it all the more special.

On the song's last verse, Steve finally looks up to the stage to see Bucky's been watching them the whole time and has the proudest smile on his face and brightest gleam in his eyes that could blind someone if it hit the stage lights a certain way.

It's obvious and fair to say that Bucky's unconditionally and indescribably in love with Steve. Because that's so, he's _fucking scared to death_ of him and what he'll do to him when they're time's up.

* * *

The show ends an hour later, and Steve's the first person waiting for Bucky when he gets off stage and weaves his way through the crowd to their usual booth. An intimate kiss is shared between the two, but is cut off at the force of Mischka's body hugging his lower half and telling him how good he'd done. They have to be up early the next day, so a few _"Happy holidays!_" are passed around to the other Commandos, Peggy and her family, and other bar goers that Bucky knew pretty well before the three of them dip out and ride in Clint's family car back to Brooklyn. It's nearing ten something by the time they get back home, and After chowing down on grilled cheese and tomato soup, Mischka's tired and resigns herself to Steve's guest room, leaving the door open for Carter to join her then grumbling under her breath in disappointment when she remembers the animal is at Darcy's for the next two weeks and that they'd dropped her off that afternoon. It takes a lullaby and a story about a princess in shining armor saving a pretty boy in distress from an evil wizard to get her to fall asleep at a decent enough time.

"What time should I set the alarm for?" Steve asks, fiddling with clock app on his phone at the edge of his mattress when the two of them change into their night clothes and take to Steve's bedroom.

"Flight leaves at eight. Set it for six," Bucky answers, brushing out his hair at Steve's dresser. "Excited?"

The trip he can handle. Getting there is the hump he's mentally trying to get over.

Steve nods and sets the alarm on his phone then hooks the device up to its charger. "Yeah, I am guess."

"You're gonna_ love it_, Steve," Bucky goes on, but Steve blocks the rest of it out. He keeps what Peggy'd briefly mentioned in mind and that alone keeps his brain from short circuited.

Steve never mentioned it before but given he's been in the same apartment in the same city for almost a damn decade, it should go without saying he's uncomfortable traveling, specifically flying. During his service as a Captain, all he ever did was jump out of planes - sometimes without a parachute if there was water below because he was once an adrenaline junkie - to complete this or that mission, but it's been a long fucking time since he's given a rack of orders and led his team out of an airplane in flight.

"And the beach is private, and we have a bonfire..."

Peggy's right, but Bucky _so_ ecstatic for this. Anybody who's going on a vacation with their significant other for the first time would be. For once, he's showing up to the family beach house with someone he can share his bed with. Maybe. take lengthy, hand in hand, romantic walks at dawn as the crisp, cool Bahamian air brushed their skin and damp sand creeps between their toes, or kiss in the middle of the ocean as the waves rock them out and about farther from shore so it's just the two of them in their own world.

He wants that with Bucky; Bucky wants that with him. Why ruin it because he has a separation complex with his apartment? It's _not_ worth missing.

"And we can go to these really fun island parties the natives throw at the -"

"Baby," Steve calls him from the bed, turning his body to be laid across the mattress on his stomach. "_Baby_, c'mere..."

Mid-brush, Bucky locks eyes with Steve through the mirror and swivels his torso around, on high alert and wide-eyed at the gentle yet demanding command and how sweet he sounded when he gave it. Steve's got his bottom lip pressed by the top row of his teeth, beckoning him with his index finger, undressing him with his eyes.

"Huh?" the brunet squeaks, setting the brush back on the dresser and swerving to fully face Steve. He looks like a little boy, dazed, confused, and adorable as he can be with his eyes as big as saucers, his bottom lip hanging low, eyebrows pinched up in curiosity, and demeanor innocent and fragile. His hair is flopping to the side in one general direction, silky enough to be petted, bringing youth to his face.

That "I love you" is right there on his lips, but all Steve does is smile fondly at his boy and keep wiggling his index finger to get Bucky on the bed. The younger man's flushed scarlet from his forehead to his waist when he takes two steps closer to the bed and Steve pops up to meet him halfway.

"You-" Steve starts and takes him in his arms, "-did so good tonight," he says under his breath, planting a soft kiss to Bucky's poking bottom lip. "The crowd loved the set."

Bucky nods but sillily pouts and nudges the bridge of his nose against Steve's neck to push it up and leave chaste butterfly pecks. "It's a lil' interesting how my performance ethic has changed every since we met or began dating or whatever we were before we were official," he ponders, tangling his fingers at the small of Steve's back so he can't wriggle from his grasp. "Before you started coming to my shows, I always found myself performing to please the crowd and less for myself. Now it's different, I guess. I don't perform for them anymore so much as I do for myself, or Mischka, or you. You've brought the feeling back into performing. Whatever you did or whatever you do, keep doing it."

His name on that damn sticky note in Bucky's song book is the only image he sees when Bucky says that. He's so in love. _Fuck, he's never been so damn in love._

"I'm happy I could help."

Kisses are being scattered along his jaw now as Bucky hums and holds his body near, rocking them in a stationary swaying dance. It takes a moment before Steve recognizes the tune to be the one Bucky's been writing for months now. It's Steve's song - his anxiety lullaby.

Deep within the curve between Steve's neck and shoulder, Bucky mutters, "I love you."

_It's right there. It's right on your tongue, Rogers. Just say it back. Say it, man. Say it. Say. It._

Steve pecks his boy's temple and sighs. "Bucky-" it's sounds rejecting, so Bucky stops him and lifts his head from its safe spot.

"I know, I know. You're _not_ ready to say it back," he remembers patiently, rolling his eyes at the ceiling and shrugging. "I don't want you to feel obliged to remind me that you don't feel the same whenever I say it, either."

"First off, babe, don't you _ever_ think for a second that I don't feel the same. _Ever_," Steve remarks with a voice hard and stern as stone, adding much emphasis so that his point is furiously received. "I don't know how your punk ass did it, but you managed to worm your dumb way into my heart. Just 'cus I haven't said it back, don't feel like I don't. 'Cus I do. A whole fucking lot, actually."

"Do what?" Bucky tries, goofy, making Steve grimace.

"You're not gonna trick me into saying it. I will though, Bucky. I promise you that, but I'm just not ready right now."

It's the most honest he's been with Bucky in a long while. It's refreshing and much to his own shock, Steve detects no signs of tears or breaking down in Bucky when the guy shrugs lazily and puts his head back to the slot of Steve's neck.

"B-but you will be..._right_?" Bucky whispers hopefully, lifting his head back up to stare into his soul. "There's no rush, but I don't wanna feel like I'm in this alone."

"You're not. I'll get there, but I think I can _show_ you better than I can tell you."

It's an insinuation to the highest degree. Watching Bucky's lust stricken expression closely, he pulls away and strides towards the closet, rummages behind some shoes, and find the toys from the sex shop. Peeking inside the gift bags at his purchases, he figures now is as good as any to get this done.

"Show me what?" Bucky simpers and points to the gift bags in Steve's hands when he reenters the room. "What're those?"

"Christmas gifts." Steve holds them out towards him and swings both. "Pick a bag, and I'll show you just how much love I have to give."

It's dirty, and Bucky's no idiot. He sees just where this is going, but he rolls his eyes and bashfully switches attention from the bags and Steve's face several times with a scoff before shaking his head. "We gotta be up early tomorrow, babe. Don't really have time to-"

"We can sleep in an extra half hour, love," the blond protests, even though he'll regret it in the morning; The afterglow of loving on Bucky will be well worth it. He continues forcing the bags towards him and pouts. "Just pick a bag, Buck."

Unsure yet tempted, Bucky deliberates at the identical bags in Steve's hands all of five seconds before blindly going for the one in his left hand and removing the decorative tissue.

"_Oh_," Bucky moans, reaching inside and pulling out the black satin blindfold. His eyes shoot to Steve worriedly, almost distrusting, with his eyes big again and his form shaking like a tiny dog. It's anticipation and need coursing through his veins when he puts two and two together and realizes that Steve's kinkier than he leads on.

As he hold this thing in his hands and then looks back up at his awaiting boyfriend, there's a nudge in his gut and soul. It's indescribable, but it's in tune with the second nature in him to please and obey Steve. Bucky's never been more frightened and aroused to take such a plunge if it meant Steve's acceptance. Maybe it's an unhealthy way to challenge this hidden fear of being blindfolded, but it's hard resisting those baby blues when they're staring down at him so lovingly like Bucky's the greatest person to ever grace Earth. That look could get anyone to do _anything_.

"Babe, I, um," he stammers and that's all that needs to be said before Steve's face drops and loses all conviction.

"We don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable," Steve promises, swiftly taking the blindfold back. "I just thought it'd be a sexy idea to-"

"To what?" Bucky interjects, shakily eager and accusing. "Fuck me with the blindfold on?"

His boldness has Steve smirking and casually hitching his shoulders up then down as though that idea were merely a suggestion and not his full intention if Bucky were into it.

"Is that what you want?" Bucky presses, getting a hold on the blindfold and taking it back to feel it. Steve gulps and sets the gift bag on the nightstand.

"Only if you do," is his response. "It was just an idea."

The hesitance in Bucky is hard to miss. The concern is clear as day on Steve's face when he crouches down to be eye level with his baby boy and search for a reason why the blindfolds made him so standoffish. Deliberating, Bucky sighs with resignation and in something almost like defeat, he gives the blindfold back to Steve.

"No?"

Bucky shrugging and avoiding Steve's worried glare as he mumbles, "I_-I don't know._ I wanna try it with you, but I don't know how comfortable I'll be if I can't see what's going on."

"That's kinda the point. You don't have to see anything if you can feel everything," he purrs against Bucky's jaw as he kneels himself forward on his knees with his elbows on Bucky's lap. The nervous bobbing of Bucky's Adam's apple when he gulps compels Steve to press his lips tenderly against it, the budding beard hair scratching his forehead lightly whenever he moves.

"We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable doing, baby boy," the blonde whispers, sultry and quiet like a sacred vow meant for just them.

"I just wanna please you, sir," he replies, voice just as gravely and low, extending his neck backwards to grant permission for Steve's pretty lips to roam. That fat bottom lip of his drags with a trail of saliva in its wake across the expanse of Bucky's beautifully long neck, up the underside of his chin, and along the length of his jaw. Shivers expands down Bucky's spine and goosebumps grow against his skin, pricking up every hair in every pore on his aroused body. Steve doesn't have to do much to get him like this.

"Please me?" Steve repeats into Bucky's face, swirling a slick tongue under his ear. "Baby boy..."

"Please _you_..._only you_...sir," he mutters, eyelids drooping to a close when Steve brings their foreheads together and kisses him once, with just enough force to get Bucky's eyes to spring back open in wonder.

Instead of the lusty, sensual, smolder he'd been expecting, he's met with a golden retriever's concerned stare and innocent sideways grin. Instantly, Bucky pouts. Puppy dog, protective Steve is alive and well and knows Bucky's nervous tells when he sees them.

"We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable doing," Steve reiterates calmly, cupping the side of Bucky's face safely into his warm palm. "If the blindfold thing makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to do anything involving the blindfold, and I do not want you to try and convince yourself you can do it just to please me. Understand me?"

He's not using that Sir tone of voice, but the situation calls for the obedient "Yes, sir," Bucky moans out. Steve smiles.

Bucky's _so good, so nice, so all of his..._

_I love you._

"Does that mean we can never use the blindfold?" Bucky asks, taking Steve's wrists in hand and rubbing them. "Maybe not now, but eventually, I'd like to at least try with you."

"If trying is what you want, that's what we'll do," he agrees, nodding then rehearing Bucky's words in his head. "_With me_? As in you've done it before?"

Bucky extracts his hands from Steve's wrists slowly and hangs his head. Shit. He hadn't meant to let that slip. That puppy-like loving gaze is fading to confusion and deep worry, all traces of his former arousal evaporating into thin air when he sees Bucky's face is twisting with internal pain.

He didn't wanna have to get into this. _Not_ today. _Not_ with Steve. If he says something, Steve'll never quit beating himself up and feeling like an idiot for doing something as innocent as suggesting they fuck with a blindfold on. This big, dumb, loving, blonde asshole is sweet enough to actually getting Bucky dirty Christmas gifts, and Bucky can't even grant him the honesty he deserves.

It's not that he's never been blindfolded before - he's a prostitute, for fuck's sake. Better than anyone he knows everyone's got a kink, and unfortunately Bucky's been on the receiving end of being hurt and used by married, rich, closeted guys who can't look male hookers in the eyes - the memories of feeling helpless and pathetic when he's held down and blind to being fucked for a couple hundred dollars is what makes his stomach hurt.

He'd _never_ told Steve that being blindfolded is a hard limit. Being safe is half the fun of fucking, and Bucky does not feel safe if he can't see his partner. Not only does he not feel safe, he feels cheap. No matter how disgraced and undignified he feels, he'd never say no though.

Surprisingly enough, it didn't start with prostituting. There's been so many times when Xavier would force a silky tie around a fifteen year old Bucky's eyes to avoid looking into them and keep a clear conscience when he'd keep plowing and plowing so harsh and deep inside of the young boy. Bucky remembers crying and being relentlessly hit for being so sensitive and ruining Xavier's nicest tie with his tears. He loved it, and hated himself for years after when the severity and fucked up nature of the act sunk in. He came to terms with his young self blindly enjoying the sadistic nature of he and Xavier's relationship. That cheap, unwanted, unworthy, sick feeling never resurfaced until one of his clients blindfolded him during a session and he cried all the way home at how terrible he'd felt all over again.

And now here's Steve - the second greatest thing to ever happen to Bucky aside from Mischka - who bought the thing for him and ignorantly suggests without a damn clue that Bucky would probably end up having a panic attack if he put that thing on him. He wants to say no, tell him the truth of why he needs to try it with him instead of just try it in general. Half of him wants to do it for Steve and himself, the other feels like dying for letting himself get this way.

"Don't act surprised." Bucky rolls his eyes in loo of Steve's shock. "You're dating a whore, and you really think he might've never done something like being fucked with a blindfold on?"

It's Steve's turn for his eyes to roll. His baby boy knows so much better than to use that word in reference to himself. "_Don't_ call yourself that."

"But I am."

"Bucky-"

"What else do you call someone who offers sexual advances to people in exchange for money?" Bucky chides, snickering to himself and pushing Steve aside by his shoulders so he can finish brushing his hair. "It's pretty cute you try and pretend that's _not_ what I am."

While Steve recognizes that all this is a defense mechanism and Bucky's only being this self-deprecating because he's scared as fuck and hiding something, it doesn't irritate him any less. If reminding Steve that he's foolishly falling in love -well rather, fallen in love - with someone who prostitutes is the way he'll deflect his feelings, then Steve'll allow it. Fighting back will do nothing, so he sits on the carpet with his back supported by the bed frame, watching Bucky with pinched eyebrows.

They dwell within silence till Bucky's brushed out every knot and tangle in his hair and sheepishly grunts something at Steve as he searches for a hair tie on the dresser.

"What was that?" Steve asks, tapping his ear.

"I said that I'm quitting," he says louder this time and puts his hair in a ponytail at the base of his neck. "I'm quitting prostitution."

Steve blinks. "Did you think of that in the span of silence just now or-"

"No." He's shaking his head, pulling his lips inward. "No, I've been thinking about it for a while."

"How long's a while?"

Bucky sighs and joins Steve on the floor, legs crossed over another, hands reaching for Steve's. Their fingers intertwine loosely at the knuckles.

"Since that day I got hurt in October," he answers immediately, bringing Steve's hand to his face to kiss them. "When I was laying in that hospital bed, I realized that getting hurt and having you and everyone that knows worry about me isn't worth the money. It's disrespectful as fuck to you, and the fact that you tolerate me doing what I do and staying with my ass is a goddamn miracle. No one in their right mind would ever think to stay with someone like me."

"Someone like you," Steve parrots, working his fingers out of Bucky's and runs them over his beard. "You'd have to be a damn fool to not want someone as beautiful as you, Buck. It seems silly but I'd literally tolerate _anything_ if it meant I could have you."

A snarky tease about Steve being a cheesy sap is the expected response, but instead, Bucky's grinning and turning pink. "I don't get you, babe. I really don't."

"How so?"

Bucky shrugs then bites the corner of his bottom lip. "_I_ _know_ it hurts you," he says casually, meeting Steve's eyes and right into his soul. "I know you cry at night because of what I do. I know that you don't wear the watch and probably won't wear the jacket because I used my hooker money to buy them. I know you're afraid that I'll get hurt and that you hate Brock Rumlow more than anybody you've never met. I know that you were cheated on before and that being with me feels like a never ending repeat of having to go through that over and over again, but you're too scared to say something because you think you're trying to change me.

"And above all that,_ I know you love me._ You may not say it, but I feel it, y'know? You don't go through what you do for the sake of just having a boyfriend or girlfriend. It's deeper than that. Whatever you feel, I feel the exact same, and I'm goddamn tired of hurting you _so much_. I'm tired of trying to compromise with myself that you're okay at home when I'm out with a client," he confesses, blinking till his wet eyes are back to normal and chuckling softly. "You deserve someone to be dedicated to you with a whole heart and not ninety-nine percent of one. I can give you that. I'm done with doing this come the new year because if we have one more goddamn fight about me whoring or me coming home a fucking mess because I feel like shit one more time I'm actually gonna lose my mind."

After Steve's finished pressing the hardest kiss on Bucky's pouted lips, Bucky continues with, "And it's _not_ fair to Mischka either. If she found out and began to resent me, I don't think I'd ever be okay again. If my little girl sees me doing it, what's gonna stop her from thinking it's acceptable and that she should let herself be used like this? Steve, I don't think I could bear it if my baby girl hated me for this."

Steve goes to kiss him again, but Bucky shakes his head and shies away in shame.

"I don't think Mischka could ever hate you," Steve concludes. That's something he could never picture no matter how often they poke fun and bump heads. "I think you're making a healthy decision. It's good that you're doing this, but not once did you mention quitting for yourself," he notes and lifts Bucky's chin to meet his wondering glare. "Why's that?"

"It was never about me," he reasons, easing forward to kiss Steve's chin and jaw lightly. "I've just been so desensitized to my own mental health and well-being about hooking that after so long it just didn't matter anymore."

Steve hates to think that's probably true. As far as being selfless goes, he and Bucky take the cake. "Baby," he purrs, bringing Bucky close. "Baby, it's okay to say you're doing this for you."

"I know. It's for you and her, though."

Steve's heart might break just then. He's not sure. His heart is flip flopping between happy and devastated that Bucky's quitting but for the sake of him and Mischka, and not for himself. This guy might be Steve's hero.

"I, ugh, just- damn," he starts with a laugh, flashing pretty teeth. "I just love you guys so much. You get me?"

"Yeah, I got you."_ I've always got you._

"Good." With a infinite smile, Bucky shuffles to his feet and hold his hand out to lift Steve up from his position on the carpet then slam him into the bed. Giggling, both bodies bounce in protest to the coils of the box spring and land atop of each other.

"You think we can still get that thirty minutes tomorrow morning if we do a little something right now?" Bucky murmurs, grinding his crotch into Steve's, hardening them both within a matter of seconds. Steve knows they shouldn't but he's way too proud and happy to not fuck this guy into the mattress.

He's finally all his. Bucky _finally_ belongs to _only_ Steve.

Maybe it's time to give the collar a try.

* * *

Steve's been wide awake since Bucky'd fallen asleep hours before after they'd finished fooling around. Bucky managed to suck two orgasms out of him and even that wasn't enough to lull him.

Given the winter season, the sun hasn't risen yet, so Steve spends the entire five o' clock hour, petting and scratching his fingers through Bucky's hair in its tousled state as it tickles his jaw and chin with slight touches every time Bucky shifts. There's a puddle of drool on his chest, and two protective arms wrapped in front and behind him, keeping him immobile and still. He doesn't mind it. In fact, he's grown accustomed to Bucky's sleeping form holding him tight and refusing to let go until it's time to awake. It's safe and very reassuring to know he has someone that's so urgent to be with him that even when they're asleep, they can't let him go. He hasn't had that in a long time. It's a feeling he'll _never_ get tired of.

With Bucky's decision being out in the open, he'd think he'd slept like a baby. All he can think about is today and what a milestone this is for them. How is he leaving the apartment for _two weeks_? _How_ did that happen? How did he manage to fall so deeply in love with someone that he actually agreed to part with his shell of safety for _two whole weeks?_

He sighs heavily, pressing chaste pecks against Bucky's scalp. "I love you," he whispers, full aware he's asleep and knowing Bucky can't hear him. The man halfway on top of him exhales deeply and tightens around him, snoring, and purring with minute vibrations with each dream he dreams.

"What've you done to me? Huh?" Steve continues. The more he keeps talking, the longer, he figures, the moment will freeze. As long as Bucky's dead to the world, he won't have to get up, get on a fucking plane and temporarily leave his life behind. "Fuck," he hums, kissing Bucky's crown yet again. "What're you doing to me?"

The muscles in Steve's body lock and weigh down when Steve's phone chimes and the clock reads six o'clock now. Turning the volume down so to not wake his boyfriend, he heaves another weighted, anxious breath. There's no holding it off, so he might as well lighten himself and get out of bed to get this day started. The sooner it starts, the sooner it can be fucking over.

Attempting to roll out of the bed is difficult when a six foot, two-hundred something pound, clingy war vet with a metal arm is refusing to let him leave though. Through an act of telepathy almost and at the speed of light, Bucky's mildly awake, keeping Steve to him. His eyes are still closed, but the rest of his body is tensed and unwilling to release its prisoner.

"_No_," is all he mutters.

"I'm just gonna get dressed, baby," Steve laughs, effortlessly kissing his head so he'll ease up. He doesn't, but a whimper sneaks out between his parted lips.

"_Nooooo_," he whines, snuggling closer to Steve, blissful and completely unfazed by Steve's groan.

"I'm gonna let you sleep in, Buck. I wanna get up."

Bucky's fast asleep again, snoring and rattling his throat with instinctive growls each time he feels Steve move. By the time his six-thirty alarm goes off, Bucky's groggy but fully awake yet still refusing to let Steve get up.

"You're a child," the blond figures, pressing into him. "An actual five year old."

"You can file a complaint with our human resources department," he quips sleepily, running his metal fingers against Steve's bare stomach. "Can't help I really like to stay in and sleep."

"Yeah, yeah. We gotta be up soon if we're gonna make our flight, though."

"Five more minutes," he tries to bargain, but Steve slaps his arms away playfully and frees himself so that he can sit over the edge of the bed and yawn.

"Up. _Now_." He just needs to get this over with.

"You're no fun outside of fucking me," Bucky jokes, half serious, and removes his arms from Steve's body reluctantly.

"You can file a complaint with our human resources department," Steve replies mockingly, stretching upward. "Get your ass up. I'm gonna take a shower," he tells him through a howling yawn.

"We'll save time if we shower _together_," Bucky mentions suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows.

Steve ignores the comment and rises, bare ass on display as he shuffles to the bathroom. Bucky whistles and shifts in between the sheets, not even trying to look like he's about to get up.

Under the searing hot water and body wash combination, Steve scrubs himself clean, leaving no part of himself unwashed. After getting out the shower, he brushes his face, washes his face and puts all his toiletries in a travel pack to be stored into his suitcase. Reentering the bedroom, he mentally applauds Bucky for being up to change the sheets and put down new ones before getting dressed.

"Is she up yet?" Steve wonders, stepping into the closet. Bucky shakes his head and fluffs a pillow.

"Nah, she's still sleep. Gonna get her up soon, though. She's either gonna be a grump or hella excited to be leaving today."

Steve makes an affirming sound and does a three-sixty of the closet, hoping his eyes'll land on comfy airport wear that'll make their travel easy. He finds those dark grey sweatpants Bucky likes so much and a white t-shirt before making to exit the closet to put his underwear on. In the process of Steve getting dressed, Bucky takes a shower, puts on some clothes, awakes Mischka, and assists her in getting ready. She doesn't put up a fight or grumble too much, but they end up carrying her sleeping form to the taxi cab awaiting the three of them outside the apartment building.

Up until getting inside the vehicle, Steve had distracted himself by being in constant motion with a last minute watering of his plants, turning his utilities off, leaving directions for Sam when he stops by the apartment for keep up, cleaning, and putting away Christmas decorations. It's when he looks back at his shrinking building and familiar Brooklyn streets through the icy fogged glass of the cab's rear window does he feel anxious. Before this can upset him, metal fingers intertwine with his shaking flesh ones and squeeze. Looking up, Bucky's head is laid on the headrest, eyes shut but awake, with his other hand wrapped protectively around a sleeping, curled up Mischka in his lap.

Everything from arriving to LaGuardia Airport to boarding the plane at seven thirty is one big blur of movement, dialogue, and annoyances that Steve purposely don't focus on. The most he can do is concentrate on _not_ lapsing into an anxiety attack the whole time they're there and keeping Bucky's now gloved hand around his is helpful. The danger in going through baggage check, security, and the overlapping need to go home fade the second he remembers that he's here and doing this for and with Mischka and Bucky. He doesn't remember airports being _this_ crowded or annoying - probably on account of the holiday - but he doesn't let that completely stop him from shuffling around book stores and gift shops in hopes that he'd calm the hell down.

The plane's still on the runway when it hits Steve.

He's traveling.

He's actually leaving Brooklyn.

He's in a plane.

This is the farthest he's been in a long time.

That deserves a pat on the back. He'd probably be more proud of himself if he _didn't_ have a goddamn _window seat._

Mischka and Bucky are on his right, getting comfortable for the two hours of sleep ahead. If the six year old can do it, so can he. _Right_?

"_Fuck_," he mumbles, eyes forced forward and not at the passengers still boarding, or the flight attendants assisting travelers, or even the way Mischka's glaring at him for his language. Her expressions minutely changes to concern when she takes note of his shaking body, clamped fists, heaving chest, and rocky breathing. Perceptively, she pokes his face to gather his attention and doesn't wait till he turns his head to being to express her worry.

"Stevie, what's wrong?" She asks and instantly, Bucky's ripping his earbuds out and whipping his head in his boyfriend's direction.

Steve ignores the gaze pointed at him and attempts to shrug nonchalantly. "N-nothing." He applauds himself for getting that much out.

"Are you scared of flying?" The little girl wonders, more alert and attentive to the uncertain and frightened expression he's portraying. "Daddy, I think Stevie's scared to fly."

_No shit, kid. _

"Is that so, sweet pea? I do, too." Bucky agrees, tapping Steve's wrist but just earns a sigh in return. Not for anything, Steve doesn't move his head or let his line of sight stray to any other direction than forward. Mentally, he counts the pink strands in the mix of brown hair on the teenager's head before him.

"Steve?"

No answer. Just a frustrated grump.

"_Steve_," the brunet groans with stern bass like he's reprimanding Mischka. Steve shakes his head, pulling his lips in, bracing for the plane to take off at any second.

_Please shut up and let me suffer in peace for two hours. _

He's up to maybe one-thousand hairs till Bucky exhales and stands to reach inside the storage cabinet above them. Passengers stroll by and excuse themselves once or twice till he gets what he needs and directs his soft tone to his daughter.

"You think you can switch seats with me for a moment? I've a way of making him feel better."

_Unless it's pulling your dick out and shoving it in my mouth, I highly fucking doubt it. _

The father and daughter switch, and the musk of Bucky washes over him with reassurance. It's reminding him of his apartment. "You okay?" He says first, soothing Steve's hand with a flesh thumb. "You're looking like a whore who just stepped into church."

Regardless of Steve's current state of verging on insanity, he probably _wouldn't_ have found that ironic joke of poor taste very funny. Bucky shrugs with a grin. "Just a lil' prostitute humor," he mumbles low so Mischka won't hear. "Tell me what's wrong."

"N-nothing," he repeats, chilling under Bucky's touch. "Just tired."

Scoffing and smirking, Bucky nods and kisses the skin he's massaging. "And a shitty liar. You sure you wanna go? It's still not too late to let Becca and Wade have a holiday to themselves and plan a traditional NYC Christmas of our own."

_Heavenly_. "Already on the plane. No need to turn back now," he huffs, up to maybe two-thousand now. "Just t-"

"Yeah, tired - _you said that already._ You're a terrible liar even under pressure," he chuckles and kisses his hand again. "You sure you don't wanna leave? Don't go through with this if you don't want to. Please exclude my feelings and think about yourself."

"Bucky, _please_," Steve mumbles impatiently. _Two hours...you can do two hours for him_. "We're already here, so quit bugging me and let's just get it over with, okay?" He snaps and sighs apologetically, shaking his head at how mean he'd sounded. "I didn't mean th-"

"Yes, you did," Bucky interrupts, not offended but cautious. "It's okay. Just needed to make sure you're willing to go through with this wholeheartedly before I tried this."

Finally facing somewhere other than forward, Steve reads the mischievousness on Bucky's face. "Try what?"

Instead of answering, Bucky keeps grinning sneakily and raises his hand to reveal the blindfold from the sex shop wrapped twined between his fingers. Steve gasps and shivers.

"Buck-"

"I was gonna ask if we try the blindfold thing over the trip, but seems like you need it more than I do," he explains sheepishly, turning pink now, but still maintaining to appear cocky. "My mom used to be afraid to fly too, and she always brought a sleeping mask to relax her. Helped her fall asleep and forget where she was and made the flight a little easier."

"Does that really work?"

Bucky nods. "She would sleep like a baby, so yeah. Do you mind if we try?"

_We_. Another shiver runs through Steve. "G-go ahead."

Delicately, Bucky turns Steve head and places the cloth on his head, perfectly shielding his eyes. The second all Steve can sense is the darkness behind the blindfold, he melts into Bucky's touch and lets it be tied at the back of his head. At the loss of his sight, everything else heightens and the calming kisses being placed to his temple and cheek are wetter and the smacking of Bucky's lips to his skin are louder than they usual would be.

"Too tight?" Bucky assures, messing with the knot but Steve shakes his head and exhales. He can't see a damn thing; he feels better.

"No, leave it. It's fine," he slurs, shaking reduced and clenched fists relaxing. "I'm okay."

"You're sure, baby?"

_No anxiety attack or insecurity or fucking _anything_ is gonna change that __you're my fucking baby. _"Yeah, I'm sure," he says, and this time, it's not a lie.

* * *

Half an hour off the ground and Steve's okay. It's dark, but he's surviving.

An hour in, and he's blindly engrossed by the flight cartoon film Mischka's watching beside him. Bucky's fast asleep.

Ninety minutes have gone by when Steve takes a page out of his boyfriend's book and dozes off himself.

Two hours later, and they're landing in Nassau. It's lively, eccentric, and hot as hell when they depart from the plane to baggage claim then await a private car to take them to the harbor.

"Why're we going to the harbor?" Steve asks when they're in the car, fanning himself with a travel pamphlet from the airport.

"To get to the boat," Mischka answers between sips of her apple juice.

Bucky smiles and adds on, "You'll see." when Steve flashes them both a confused look. "Just enjoy the scenery, hon."

The Bahamas is _nothing_, yet _everything_ like Brooklyn.

Aside from the tropical setting of palm trees, sand, and ocean water matching Steve's eyes, the street performers, exotic natives, and bustling civilian activity remind him of New York. The general aura of fun and adventure is dwindling and lingering upon the city, and it instantly puts a smile to his face. He's never seen the sun shine so bright and people so happy to be alive. He's like a little kid again, face pressed to the glass of the backseat window, amazed and appreciative by what he sees. Sam would be the proudest of him out of everyone he knows if he saw how far his best friend's gotten. Two weeks in a paradise like this and he'll be so tan and cultured that Sam will be blown away and thrilled that he's back in the world.

The ride to the harbor isn't far - they make it within the hour and just when Steve's jaw was far enough on the ground, it drops even lower when Bucky leads them down the dock and hops onto a pristine, off white, two-story cruiser yacht - that is most likely worth more than Steve's childhood home - docked in a row with the other boats. Mischka is eager to board and completely ignores Bucky's warning to walk and not run when she flies up the wooden stairs to get to the upper deck. He watches in awe as Bucky hauls their luggage onto the boat nonchalantly, thanking and tipping the helping hands that work on the beach for assisting them.

When they're alone, Steve crosses his arms and stands with his hip jutted with a charmed stare in Bucky direction. Bucky has his flesh hand out to steadily lead Steve onto the boat, but when Steve doesn't take it, Bucky grimaces, perplexed.

"Is there something wrong?" he asks, twirling the engine keys in his other hand.

"So, among the other things that make you the most interesting person ever, you own a yacht?"

Bucky rolls his eyes and reaches just far enough onto the dock to snatch Steve's hand into his. "It's my family's," he corrects him, taking great care that Steve gets onto the boat safely before heading up the stairs behind Mischka to get to the luggage. The little girl has already changed out of her plane pajamas and into shorts and a t-shirt, Bucky's aviators over her eyes as she runs around the deck with a doll, pretending she can fly.

"Don't complain when you or Barbie goes overboard. 'M not gonna tell ya to stop running around like a bull again, Mischka," Bucky warns, rummaging through his suitcase after he gets it unzipped.

"You're no fun," she pouts and slows to a gradual stop. "Stevie, can I keep playing?"

This isn't the first time Mischka's asked Steve for permission to do something, but it is the first time she's done _it in front of Bucky_. Nervously, the blond looks to Bucky, but he doesn't seem to be paying much attention to their exchange while he looks for a short sleeve shirt.

"Um, just be careful, sweetie," he answers, fixing his collar and swishing his legs around to reduce the amount of sweat dripping down his legs from the sweatpants. "No running. Listen to your Daddy."

"That's why I asked _you_."

Bucky interjects this time and tosses Steve a pair of his shorts to temporarily distract him from what his daughter'd just said. "Baby girl, why don't you go play on the lower deck and wait till your aunt and Wade get here?" He suggests, stripping off his jacket and long sleeve for the tank top he'd picked from his luggage.

"Can I still play?" She whines, descending the stairs and not awaiting an answer.

"Just no running!" Bucky shouts after her and dumps his jacket onto one of the decorative sofas on the deck. He turns to Steve and sheepishly ducks his head. "Sorry. We had a talk about why she shouldn't keep referring to you as-"

"It's fine," Steve interrupts, loosening the drawstring to the sweatpants and shimmying out of them to replace them with the basketball shorts. "It doesn't bother me, babe. It's just odd, y'know? Does it bother you?"

Bucky shrugs and zips the suitcase back up. "Not really. It actually warms my heart a little," he chuckles and stands to be eye level with Steve and take his hands in his. "'It's just that last time she did that-"

"I'm fine. Really," he quickly says. That could be the truth as much as it could be a lie. Steve's getting everything he wants in gaining a daughter out of Mischka, but hearing it acknowledged aloud is frankly strange. He's grateful that Mischka trusts him and is comfortable enough to see him how she sees Bucky. "It's just, er, ugh- I have no idea," he giggles at getting so tongue tied about this. "Just _odd_."

"Odd like how?"

Embarrassed to meet Bucky's gaze, he shows attention to everything else around them including the vast ocean surrounding and keeping the yacht afloat, or the warm breeze swaying Bucky's fluffy waves around his neck, and the modern design of the deck's furniture and layout. He can't believe they're actually talking about this and that he's about to say what he is. "Odd like she's not my daughter, but I love and care for her like she is, and I have no problem carrying on a fatherly role if it means I get to be with you, and I low-key fantasize about us having a kid."

Steve visibly disables himself from Bucky's reaction by turning to his side and straying around the deck area. After a minute and he's sure that Bucky's not gonna laugh or chick him over the edge with his arm for wanting something so silly, Steve turns back around to see his baby boy's charmed and running every shade of pink and red like a shy crab.

"Weirded out yet?" Steve exhales, releasing the puff in his chest and raising his eyebrows. Bucky doesn't appear offended by the revelation.

"Bet you don't remember what we said we'd name our kid should we ever have one," Bucky tests with a small smirk, striding over to him slowly to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Summer," Steve remembers, pinning a lock of Bucky's whirling hair behind his war. "And if she had a twin-"

"Winter," Bucky finishes fondly and presses himself possessively against Steve so that there's barely an inch between them. "I've thought about that, though. Winter seems a little whimsical - too much of a nickname. Whaddyou think of something, like, Autumn?"

"You got a season kink?"

Bucky chuckles and twists one of Steve's nipple playfully. "You got any better names?"

"I do like the nature theme - something like _Daisy_?"

Bucky's face scrunches up in dislike. "This isn't the sixties. How 'bout _River_?"

"Eh, that's better than Daisy, I suppose," he agrees, running the back of his neck and saying the next name that comes to mind. "_Skye_. With an 'E' at the end. We'll have Summer, Skye, Mischka, and maybe a few years down the line, we can have a boy and name him Michael so Mischka's not alone in having an 'M' name."

Charmed, the brunet nods with approval. "Sounds like you've put some thought into our future."

"And you don't?"

"Nah, I do," he answers, putting them at arms length but never letting his hand go. "All the time. I think about Mischka getting older and all her friends will beg to stay the night at our house 'cus her stepdad is an absolute hunk."

Steve laughs. "_Stepdad_," he repeats, trying the word out for himself. It's not a bad title. "So, we're getting married now?"

Twirling himself into Steve's embrace, he continues to blush. "Don't tell me you _don't_ think about it."

"I'd be lying if I did," Steve admits, circling Bucky on his heels casually then back into his arms. "The last name thing isn't up from discussion though. You will be Mr. James "Bucky" Rogers, and you're gonna like it," he says jokingly, but Bucky compellingly nods.

"Yes, sir. Summer and Skye Rogers sounds better than Summer and Skye Barnes, anyway," he figures, reaching up to kiss Steve's cheek. "Thanks for doing this, by the way."

"Doing what?"

"Coming here," he replies, kissing Steve again. "With me. If I came without a boyfriend or partner one more year, I'd never hear the end of it from Wade or Becca. Especially Becca."

"She just wants to make sure you're taken care of."

His metallic shoulder shrugs as he stares off passed Steve's shoulder at the ocean spread miles before them. "Just wish she didn't worry so much."

The distant and off put glare in Bucky's eyes call for something more. It's worrying, and Steve doesn't miss it. Before he can respond, Mischka's excited footsteps stomp and echo up the yacht's upper level as she races herself up the stairs. "Uncle Wade and Becky are here!" She cheers enthusiastically, dragging both men by their wrists.

"Speak of the devil and she shall appear," Bucky mutters under his breath and follows after Mischka down the stairs. It stays in the back of Steve's mind when they make it down to the first level and greet Becca and Wade. Steve tries to draw him back, genuinely bewildered at what he means about Becca constantly worrying "_so much_" about him, but Bucky resumes to beckon him to greet his sister and potential brother-in-law.

Steve's met with open arms that hold great hugs, huge smiles, some teasing that he'd managed to make it this far with Bucky, and questions about his promotion. He answers politely, taking each jab on the chin proudly and actually laughs - it's pretty fulfilling to think that he's found himself a family. As much as he'd like to marry into the Barnes's union, it wouldn't hurt to be the head of a team of Rogers's.

"So, my brother been treating you well?" Becca wonders fifteen minutes into sailing. Mischka's playing with her doll on the upper level with Wade and Bucky while they have a drink and steer to the beach house.

"Shouldn't you be asking me if _I've_ been treating _him_ well?" He asks, taking a drink of his beer.

The petite woman smirks sideways and pokes his chest. "I _know_ you've been _treating him well_, my friend," she insinuates, suggestively yet comically wiggling her eyebrows. "He doesn't hesitate to tell me how well you treat him. If I weren't pregnant and committed, I'd have to find out for myself just how _well_ you treat him."

Steve swallows hard and his skin burns at how passionate she sounds in making him squirm. Bucky's never been one to skip on details when it comes to he and Steve's sex life. That metal armed mess told Peggy, probably Sam, and most likely all the other Commandos, so there should be no surprise that he told his sister. It could be quite possible the only person he hasn't bragged to is Mischka.

"Ha-ha," Steve barks out sardonically, subliminally proud that Bucky has such a big mouth.

"Oh, c'mon, Steve. 'M only teasing," she laughs, bumping his shoulder in good nature. "Bucket doesn't beat around the bush because he likes showing you off and letting everyone under the sun know that you're his and only his."

"Sounds like my babe."

"I take it he's been good to you."

Grinning wide, Steve nods and finishes his bottle. "He's been amazing. We're really happy."

"I can tell. You probably haven't stopped grinning since Thanksgiving, eh?" Becca guesses, tying her hair up into a ponytail when as it whips about in the wind. "Can't wait for you to see the house, Stevie - Bucket's probably more than excited to finally get you up in that room of his."

"Why?"

Her face drops while her left brow stays cocked and raised like Steve's the most oblivious idiot on Earth. "You'll figure it out."

Steve'll never be opposed to digging deeper into Bucky's past, and seeing his childhood vacation spot might be a gateway into other unexplained mysteries about Bucky. Thinking harder than he should, he manages to upset himself with thoughts of Xavier and whether or not he'd taken advantage of Bucky here, too.

The possibility that he could've is disturbing

Instead of diving too far off an edge he knows nothing about, he keeps the conversation with Becca lively and distracting so to not get angry.

The yacht ride is an hour and a half long, and the family stays occupied by playing cards, dancing, tanning, and playing a limited game of I-Spy that frustrates Mischka to no end when Bucky purposely says 'no' every time she guesses that the something blue he's thinking of is the ocean. It's when the boat comes to a steady stop during a game of poker between Steve and Wade that the blond finally looks up from his spot on the deck floor and gasps loudly at what his eyes have landed on.

"We're home!" Bucky yells from the steering wheel, parking the yacht at the deck about fifty feet away from the castle that these people consider the Barnes beach house.

"Holy shit," Steve mutters, unbelieving, heart blond from the glow of his home for the next two weeks.

"_Language_," Miscka chides him, grabbing his hand to lead him to the luggage. "Lets go, папа."


	18. 18

The best way to describe the Barnes beach house is an even hybrid between a Disney princess's castle and a high class Malibu mansion consisting of at least twenty-four thousand square feet - bigger than _any_ building Steve's had the pleasure of being in. The exterior of the building is built from bricks and marble consisting of a warm, elegant color palette of champagne, off whites, and beige walls, archways, and stained glass windows evenly played to reveal every front room of the house. It's more wide than it is tall, but the place still manages to remain classy and almost haunting to look at and maybe even more intimidating to go in to. In _no_ _way_ is this place modest with its Grecian-inspired fountain at the entrance, spacious terrain of freshly cut, green garden of grass and flowers, and sparkling concrete pavement.

It sort of resembles the kind of painting Steve'd see at The Met. At this point, all he wants to do is get his sketch pad out and draw what's before him. Standing in the presence of such luxury, he feels so small and yet so impressed that he can't make himself stop staring or move from his spot on the driveway.

"You comin'?" Bucky stops in his tracks on his way to join Mischka, Becca, and Wade at the front door and turns when he sees his boyfriend is frozen in place, leaning on his suitcase and staring up at the house in wonder. The guy looks like a work of art all amazed and awestruck, just standing there in the Bahamian sunshine, in the aroma of the sea being drifted by the light winds and swaying of palm trees up above. He's focused more on how pretty the guy is and stays rather oblivious to Steve's reaction to what he's about to be living in till 2016.

"Bucky, this place is- just, _wow_," he gasps out, shaking his head in wondrous thought. "You sure you're not already a world famous rock star and this is where you really live?"

Finding the assumption funny, Bucky chuckles and joins Steve at his side, leaving his own suitcase where it is on the driveway while his daughter, sister, and brother-in-law unlock the door and enter. "Beautiful, huh?"

"You guys come here every year?"

"Without fail."

"Why would you ever wanna go back from _this_?"

With a shrug, Bucky answers "Brooklyn's home."

"What kinda riches did your family come into in little old Indiana to help afford not only  
a yacht but a place like this?"

A fond smile cracks over the brunet's face as he takes Steve's hand to further them towards the mansion's white archway entrance. "Great-great-great granddaddy on mom's side came from a very wealthy family who earned their fortune by striking oil on their farm hella centuries ago," he explains, climbing the golden porch stairway into the house. "They bought this house and everyone on Winnie's side has been using it as a vacation house ever since. Of course it didn't always look like this - it's been updated a few times since whenever Pop bought it."

"So, this place is ancient?"

"Pretty much," Bucky agrees, crossing the threshold, bringing Steve with him. "It's old, but it's like a second home," he says, shutting the door beside him, resulting in a booming echo throughout the castle. Steve's jaw is practically dragging along the shiny, buffed, marble, tiled floors, when he evaluates the cocoa colored walls adorned with classical paintings, sculptures, and exotic light fixtures, the ceiling skylight in which a diamond encrusted chandelier hangs halfway down the middle of the room, the dual staircase carved of white marble and mahogany banisters splitting the room in half, and the hallway in between that supplies a complimentary view of the rose garden and backyard pool.

"Holy hell," are the first words out of Steve's mouth when he cranes his neck backwards to take in his vast surroundings. "Bucky, this is _far too much house_ for just the five of us."

"Becca used to always say it was too much house for four of us as a way to tease me about not having anybody to bring," he replies with an annoyed shrug and heads towards the left staircase. "C'mon, lemme show you my room."

The stairs are a hike and Steve pretends not to be winded when they reach the top and go down several, well lit, and wide hallways before stopping at a room in the most secluded section of the upper level. Twisting the knob, Bucky pushes forward to open the door and of course, it's bigger than Steve's entire apartment, but he doesn't mean to gasp when he figures that out.

Instead of regular drywall, two out of the four walls of the room are glass from foundation to the roof with white trim along the edges. Illuminated by the sun on the other side, the room's color scheme consisted of reds, blacks, and silver representing almost a Romanian dungeon or a honeymoon suite. The bed is an upholstered California king with silk sheets and multiple throw pillows and at the sight of it, all Steve can fantasize about is taking the world's best nap.

The rugs, lamps, sitting area, and television tie the room together, and it's difficult thinking that Bucky stayed in this huge room all by himself in past vacations.

"This is _your_ room?"

"_Our_ room," Bucky corrects him, setting his suitcase aside and taking Steve's from his hands to place it by the wardrobe. "There's been some renovations since last year. I'm just grateful you didn't see this place when I was a teenager; I had Leonardo DiCaprio and Marky Mark posters almost literally _everywhere_."

"Cute," Steve chuckles, approaching the glass wall to enjoy the view of the ocean and down at the wonderland of a backyard. Mischka's already got on a bathing suit and flip flops on, skipping and participating in a game of tag with Wade and Becca. "This view is _amazing_."

"Yeah, ain't it? Feels like I'm in a giant fishbowl," he admits, coming behind Steve for a hug and looking out at the beach ahead his shoulder.

"Don't you worry about privacy?"

"Maybe at first, but who's watching me? Fish? Seagulls? S'not so bad."

That's brave. As though being on a private beach, miles from the city weren't private enough, the recluse in Steve still prefers to be sheltered and kept away indoors where no one can see or hurt him. On the other hand, it's an interesting concept the glass walls are, mainly because now he can walk around naked and not have to worry about someone seeing.

_Maybe_ even fuck Bucky against it just like he'd wanted to that day in his office.

"Wanna see the rest of the room?" His boy suggests, taking his flesh hand into his metal one to show him the space. Steve follows willingly, trying to not act surprise when he sees the size of the bathtub, the walk-in closet, the attached living room, and balcony on the other end of the room equipped with a minibar and hot tub.

"I plan to fuck you at least one time in that thing, by the way," Bucky mentions, pointing to the tub and then leading his man through the screen door and back into the main bedroom area.

"Duly noted."

Smirking and hiding his blushing cheeks with a ducked head, Bucky plops his suitcase on the bed and unzips it. "Unpack so I can give you a tour of the rest of the house."

"As fun as that sounds, can we take a nap?" Steve asks instead, carefully shielding Bucky's gift from him as he unpacks his clothes, refolds them, and places them in the dresser.

"I was lowkey hoping you'd say that 'cus _I'm fucking tired_," he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck and hanging his clothes in the closet. "I could honestly sleep till Christmas."

After putting his empty suitcase under the bed, Steve strips out of his clothes down to just his boxer briefs and stretches before flipping the comforter back and sliding between the sheets, knees first and dropping the rest of his body down, making the bed creak. Inserting himself under the comforter, the silky thread count is a chilly heaven set against his calloused skin and tired muscles. The nap on the plane did shit for him comfort wise, but he just might sleep till Christmas the second his head hits the pillow.

His satisfied groan echoes throughout the room, eliciting Bucky from the closet with a grin. "Comfy?" he singsongs, pulling his shirt over his torso and tossing it to the floor.

"Just get your ass in this bed, please."

"Are you naked?"

Steve's head sinks deeper into the pillow when he lazily slews it left to right. "I didn't wanna ruin the sheets just yet," he says drowsily, one eye open to watch Bucky watch him. The man's down to his underwear too now, but he's just leaning on the frame, starry eyed. He's still grinning from ear to ear, head cocked to the side while his body slouches carelessly against the edge of the bed.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that?" Steve chuckles out of sheer exhaustion, wiggling his eyebrows as best he can. Patting the space beside him, he gestures his head towards Bucky. "Get in here with me."

"It's just weird," he starts, red in the face and biting his bottom lip. "Since I was a kid, I always pictured bringing someone here solely just to share the bed - I never thought it'd actually happen. Only person who's been in this bed besides me is maybe Mischka when she can't sleep."

Steve lifts his head and narrows his glare at him. "The _only_ person?" he tests, praying Bucky will pick up on who he's thinking of. Bucky sighs and shakes his head.

"Xavier never did that to me _here_," he clarifies casually, shrugging one shoulder and digging a knee into his bed to lean comfortably. "I think it's cus this house is old as hell and he thought that the lost souls of Barnes family members past would haunt him for molesting their great-great-grandson."

There's a brief, uncomfortable silence as Steve pictures a young Bucky sleeping peacefully in this room without worry of being taken advantage of. He can practically visualize that sick stepdad of Bucky's tempted yet scared to touch him. Diminishing the thought, Steve clears his throat and pokes Bucky's thigh. "So, I'm the first? You never brought Brock or Natasha here?"

"_Brock_?" Bucky laughs incredulously at the thought of it, shaking his head some more and pulling the sheets back to slide in. "Yeah, _right_. And Nat? Well, she passed before I ever got the opportunity to bring her as my wife. So, yah, you're the first. I'm kinda proud of that, actually," he admits as he gets comfortable on one side of the bed, head resting on the metal palm of his hand. "I kinda wouldn't rather have anyone else here."

"You're _so_ cheesy."

Grey eyes rolling and a smirk forming, Bucky lays on his side and reaches for Steve's hand under the covers. "You like it - _oof_!"

Two, huge, strong arms envelope the brunet within their embrace, smothering him towards the body they belong to so that warmth is shared and intimacy is the only option. With his face mushed within Steve's pectorals, Bucky playfully nips with his front teeth into his boyfriend's breast.

"Yeah, I do," Steve agrees, squeezing him just tight enough so that they're basically glued together. Bucky's leg hitches over Steve's hip, compelling Steve's right leg to merge between Bucky's thighs. Like vines on a tree, they're twisted together beautifully, refusing to let the other go. Steve's lips stay pressed gently against Bucky's crown when he continues with "So, tell me what some of the Barnes family Christmas traditions we'll be doing for the next couple of weeks."

Snuggled close, Bucky lifts his head from Steve's pillow of a chest and bats his lashes against his chin. "Well, usually on our first night, we put up the tree and have a bonfire out on the beach. I play Christmas music on my guitar and we have dinner. It's really boring, cheesy, white people shit."

Steve scoffs out a huff of air. "Sounds festive."

"Yeah, it's not as corny as I'm making it seem. It should be more fun this year with you joining us and all."

They're silent again, deep and content in the void of the other's body that's a lot more comfortable than the silence before. The staccato drumming in the back of Bucky's throat passing off as a catlike purr vibrates steadily against Steve's chest, so he pulls the younger man inward the couples centimeters of space between them.

"You're so warm," Bucky mentions, dipping a hand into Steve's underwear to squeeze his waist and ass. "You're always so warm. Even when it's cold as hell outside, you always manage to stay so toasty."

"Go to sleep, Bucky," Steve demands of him, kissing his head again, eyes fluttering closed with stray strands of Bucky's hair in his face.

"Are you too tired to keep talking about our future married life?" He asks cautiously, his voice lilting at the tail end of the question like a curious child in wonder. "We don't have to, but it's nice to finally talk about it knowing that you think about it too."

_It is_.

"Honestly? I'm not ready to get married just yet, but I know when I do, it'll be to you and _only you_," Steve figures, sliding his own hands into Bucky's boxers and drumming his fingers into the jiggling fat of his rear. "And just in case you're wondering, I'm proposing to you, so don't feel pressured that you have to give me a ring."

"Yeah?" Bucky giggles giddily, sounding like a baby.

"Damn right."

"What else?"

"Well, ideally, I'd always wanted to honeymoon in Europe, but we just might find ourselves in this bed a year from now. I literally don't ever wanna leave this bed."

"A year from now? That's when we're getting married?" Bucky asks jokingly, burying his head into the crook of his boyfriend's flushed neck.

"A year and a half," Steve corrects himself with a shrug. "Two years tops."

"A bit soon."

"How 'bout if we're not married or at least engaged by the time Mischka enters middle school, you have every right to drug me, dress my limp body up in a tux, and force me to marry you."

In the midst of laughing into Steve's neck, Bucky runs his nose along the surface of his skin to inhale him. This man smells too good for Bucky to keep his hands to himself. "That's about five years, pal. You bettin' on us still being together?"

In mock offense, Steve pulls away from Bucky's embrace to deliver the shadiest side eye imaginable and pouted lips. Even though Steve's being silly with this look, Bucky manages to still feel foolish by asking. Truth be told neither of them know who or what the hell they'll be in five years time, but it's causing Bucky's skin and blood beneath to burn with passion, as reflected by the pink on his face, neck, and ears, to think of Steve being taken aback by such a thing. It makes him feel more than wanted - _needed_, almost.

"Excuse me?" Steve mumbles and lays back down, one half of his face hidden in the pillow. "Don't know if you know this, but _you're mine_ now. Like _mine_. As in you're mine _now, tomorrow, next week, next year_, and _every time_ after."

"But-"

"No buts," he interrupts, tucking Bucky back into the safe zone of his neck. "No exceptions. _I'm yours, _and_ you're mine_ from now on. Yeah, it's only been two months, but I don't need anymore time than that to know I need to spend the rest of my life with _you_," he enforces reasonably.

"We've actually been together three months and some weeks. I always counted August and September as when we began dating."

"Okay, fine," Steve agrees. "Four months. Been together four months - s'all I need to know you're my husband and that we're gonna be together forever."

"Sound's like something out a fairy tale," he utters into the side of Steve's neck. "Only they'll be two Papa Bears and one Little Bear."

"Won't be just the three of us forever, though."

"You're serious about having kids?"

"As serious as a heart attack. Can we sleep now?" Steve yawns, melting into the comforter even further. "We got a tree to put up later, right?"

Despite how tired he is, Bucky's reluctant to let the topic lay to rest when the thought of he and Steve getting married as well as having kids is a definite thing that'll be occurring in their future. The easygoing nature of how Steve speaks so confidently in them being together as life partners is enough to keep him awake now, tonight, and maybe even the entire vacation. Not only does it make him happy and dumbly overcome with whatever endorphin attribute to happy tears that someone wants him in that way, but the fact that it's the man he's been enamored with since August wanting him this badly and wholeheartedly is more addictive than any drug or more poisonous than any drink. _Never_ in Bucky's wildest imagination would he expect that when he first spotted Steve walking Carter from the other side of the street, in the back of the rental truck, that he'd get so attached and just fall deeply and unreasonably in love. Not very many are fortunate to date - let alone _marry_ \- the person they have a crush on, but Bucky's blessed to have the chance to do both with the epitome of perfection, Steve _"fuck-you-stupid-on-Saturday-and-worship-you-on-Sunday_" Rogers.

"Yeah. Right," Bucky pecks his skin. "We do."

Seconds pass swiftly yet languidly into minutes that lead up to Steve falling asleep completely with easy exhales and cute snores. His eyelids flutter with each rise and fall of his naked, chiseled chest and Bucky takes note and cherishes each breath exiting Steve's nose that tickles his forehead. Caressing Steve's lax muscles with flesh and metal hands, Bucky nods to himself and kisses one of Steve's pectorals, silently praying that this gentle soul is keeping him together.

"I love you," he claims, rubbing himself into his boyfriend further. "_Please_," he begs, whimpering and nibbling on Steve like a mouse on a cracker. "Please, say it back."

Although Steve's asleep and Bucky knows he can't hear him nor will say it back, he continues begging and repeating _say it back, say it back, please, baby, just say it back_ into Steve's skin like a mantra. Wherever his consciousness is floating, Steve's well aware that Bucky loves him, but saying it back may be something entirely out of his control.

* * *

Thanksgiving pales in comparison to the sense of family Steve's surrounded by when he and Bucky awake from their nap, help Wade drag the fifteen foot, artificial, Christmas tree from the depths of their storage unit in the basement, and begin decorating it in the living room while Becca gets dinner started. Mischka hops in and out of the expansive living room and modernized galley kitchen, singing along to the Christmas carols blasting throughout the surround sound speakers in every hallway of the house. A Christmas at the Rogers's usually consisted of Joseph, Sarah, and Steve tagging along with the other kids and their parents in the neighborhood for door to door caroling then catching something fierce out in the cold and sitting in front of the fireplace while Home Alone played on the brand new TV Joseph bought after receiving a holiday bonus at work. Then, if his parents would deem him healthy enough, they'd do charity work at the church Sarah sang in the choir for. It was usually always a fun time, and it was so long ago, but he can't recall experiencing a Christmas where he has to climb a ladder to decorate the whole thing with streamers, glitter and ornaments.

"Can _I_ put the star on top, Stevie? _CanICanICanI_?! _Pleeeeeeeease_?" Mischka asks, circling the tree with hyper ambition and a gleam in her eye. She's had one too many holiday cookies and candy cane sticks against Bucky's order, and probably won't sit down until someone pays attention to her.

"No," Bucky barks from his side of the tree and snatches the star playfully from Steve's grip. "You know the rule."

"Daddy, _pleeeeeeease_?" She whines, twirling in on herself, rotating and stamping her feet like a hyperactive puppy. It's so unlike her to be so silly that Wade and Steve are stifling their laughter.

"Rule?" Steve wonders between chuckles, side eyeing Bucky as the brunet rearranges glass ornaments.

"Every year, we put each of our names into a bowl and pick," Wade answers, hanging a nutcracker. "Barnes family thing."

"What happens if the same someone is picked two years in a row?" Steve goes on, amused by this little tradition. Even though he could barely reach and needed Joseph's help, Steve was _always_ the one to put the star on the Rogers Christmas tree.

Bucky backs away from his creation of evaluation then grimaces at it before fixing them around before saying, "So be it. Becca once had a streak of three years in a row before my mom lost her mind and took her name out all together," with a snort. "The tradition was thought up when my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins would still tag along for Christmases here, therefore more names so the likelihood of the same person getting picked twice was a bit lower," he explains, satisfied with his arrangement, grinning and popping a candy cane in his mouth to suck on.

"Why'd they stop coming along?"

"Considering this house belongs to Mom's side of the family, there was no reason for my dad's people to tag along if they weren't married anymore. So eventually, it was just me, Becca, Mom and, um, Xavier," he continues awkwardly, averting his eyes back to Mischka and deliberately focusing on sucking the red off the candy cane to avoid Steve's sad glare at his stepdad's mention. "Mischka, honey, go get the bowl and some paper so Steve can put his name in."

The littler girl flies off in the direction of the kitchen, but Steve's mouth opens to object with his hands up in a surrender. "Oh, _wait_ \- this is you guy's tradition. You don't need to put my name in."

Wade snickers aloud and pops his head around to refer to Steve from his side of the massive tree. "I said the same thing my first time here, buddy. Literally, there's no use in protesting 'cus these motherfuckers will pester you until you accept that you're part of their dumbass family, and you're not too grown to put a star on the Christmas tree."

Looking to Bucky now, Wade smiles almost sarcastically and bats his curly lashes to his potential brother. "Ain't that right, Bucky?"

With a nod of conformation, Bucky shrugs one shoulder and twists his face up cutely as if to say _"you're stuck with us."_

Mischka hops back into the living room with a plastic bowl occupied by slips of paper and a marker with her aunt's hand in hers, dragging her to the center of the room where the tree is. "Here ya go, Stevie," she squeaks, handing him the bowl and marker. Taking them from her, he glances to Bucky out of his peripherals to detect a reaction which is surprisingly red faced and smug.

Steve writes **STEVIE** on a blank slip of paper and offers it into the bowl for the raffle. Bucky mixes it around with a flick of his wrists, wiggling his eyebrows at everyone with a smirk. "Hmmm...who could it be?" he teases, humming and making eye contact with everyone. After thirty seconds of watching Bucky's frivolous mixing, Wade, impatiently and with a groan, digs his hand into the bowl and reads it.

"Congratulations, munchkin," he says flatly, showing the group a slip of paper with **MISCHKA** written on it. "You get what you want after all."

Milking out her victory, Mischka smiles like a smart ass at Bucky who in mock reluctance passes his kid the heavy, diamond encrusted ornament from it's cardboard compartment packaging.

"Spoiled brat," he teases lovingly and bends down just enough so she can mount his shoulders and reach the top. Extending her arms upwards with her tongue poking out in concentration, the six year old steadies herself, long legs wrapped securely around Bucky's shoulder and torso, to lean up and forward and set the star at the tree's point. It wobbles, but she manages to make it balance and stay in place, sparkling with glitter and flashing, white lights once she plugs it up to the outlet attached to the various other lights adorning the tree.

"Wow," Becca muses, eyes wide like saucers, dropping her head to rest onto Wade's chest. He kisses her head and caresses his fingers through her hair and seconds her amusement through a nod.

"Wow is right," Steve repeats. "Never seen any tree like this." It resembles a star in the dead of night or the sun within the galaxy, bright and obnoxious simultaneously emitting vanilla, pumpkin pie, and gingerbread aromas like a life sized car freshener.

"This is the best tree ever. Right, Daddy?"

Bucky nods, lowers her to cling to his hip and metal arm, then pecking Steve on his face. "Yup, sweet pea. It is. Ready to put gifts under it?"

"Can we please?"

With Bucky's family huddled together staring up wonder struck at the tree, "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" filling the mansion, and the smell of dinner in everyone's nose, Steve's emotions swell over into more than what his body is capable of. When someone spends eight years worth of Christmases alone, it's justifiable for said someone to fight an urge to burst into tears at how welcoming and nostalgic a Barnes family Christmas feels.

Much like an anxiety attack, Steve's chests tightens, but his breathing remains stable, his nerves don't waver on borderline erratic, nor does he begin to sweat. Within him, the tightening of his chest damn near feels like his heart's breaking...but in a _positive_ way? Is that _possible_? Or maybe it's growing like the Grinch's and it's a second from combustion because he's _so goddamn happy_ to be here in the Bahamas, with his babies, instead spending a freezing, solitary evening in his Brooklyn apartment, eating himself to tears then crying himself to sleep.

So not to let his mind race, Steve kisses Bucky back and curves an arm around him and Mischka, staring up at the tree with twinkles in his eyes. He's actually so hypnotized at the sight of it that he doesn't even recall Bucky kissing his cheek again and leaving the room to place gifts under the tree and finish preparing dinner.

* * *

After a repeat of Thanksgiving dinner, Steve assists Becca in the kitchen with cleanup despite her insisting that she doesn't need any.

"You don't know think it's a little messed up that you cooked and cleaned?" He asks politely, leaning on the counter while drying off a non dishwasher safe dish with a towel.

She sighs and makes a thinking noise in the back of her throat. "Er, well, I don't particularly mind doing both - Winnie would roll over in her grave if she knew Bucket was _allowed_ in the kitchen," she jokes, stacking a plate into the dish washer. "He can't cook for shit, which is why his entire pantry is stocked up with Ramen noodles and his fridge looks like the freezer aisle at the grocery store."

Steve laughs at the sheer truth of how it used to be. "Well, not anymore."

"Oh?"

"We're on a health kick. Well, rather _I_ was already eating healthy and threw out all his junk food. Oh, and we've been hitting the gym -"

Her green eyes flash to his momentarily, wide with shock, then back to the dishes. "Bucket's been going to_ the gym?_"

"_And_ eating lettuce."

"You're bullshittin'," she exclaims accusingly with one hand on her hip. "You're lying. I'll believe he's changed his diet, but _ain't no way in hell_ my Bucket's ever lifted a weight, let alone been in a gym."

Even after all the progress he's made with getting healthy, it's still slightly unbelievable that Bucky Barnes actually exercises and doesn't eat cupcakes for a meal. Steve sympathizes with her shock with a scoff. "You haven't noticed how much muscle he's put on?" He points out, gesturing to his own arms. "Guy looks like a fucking tank."

"S'not really something I pay attention to most of the time. Wade said something, but I do notice his skin's clearer and hair's healthier," she replies, organizing the dirty dishes evenly on the racks of the dishwasher. "He's looking good. Go Steve."

"_Actually_," he interjects, matter of fact, as he dries a bowl and stores it in the cabinet. "It was _his_ idea to get healthy. With the smoking and the bad diet, there's no way he would've seen forty."

Becca checks around the corner into the living room to make sure the others are distracted and leans in towards Steve to talk in a hush. "It always bothered me that he smoked. I tried to get him to stop for the sake of his health, but he's stubborn as hell, so I at least tried to bargain his diet."

Shutting the cabinet, Steve's face scrunches thoughtfully and sighs. "Meaning if he wouldn't quit smoking, he had to at least eat healthy," he hypothesizes, understanding her logic.

"I knew at some point Wade and I would have kids, and I wanted them to have their uncle to be around if, _God forbid_, we couldn't be," she explains delicately with her gaze focused at the empty sink. She's silent in thought for a minute or two before her eyes look back to Steve and a grateful, unexpected grin is aimed in his direction.

"I suppose our baby'll have _two_ uncles now?"

He can't tell if her tone is teasing or hopeful, but he returns her smile, ducks his head shyly, and dries his hands off.

It's entirely too soon, but it feels _appropriate_\- under certain circumstances- that he and Bucky get married _right fucking now._ They're practically already living together - perks of dating a neighbor - so they know they can tolerate the other's obscure habits like Bucky's infuriating tendency to leave a minuscule amount of the last of something like milk and not just finish it off _(Seriously, Buck, just drink the rest of it. We can buy more)_ or the annoying way that Steve records several TV programs at a time and wait what feels like a millennium to watch them _(Stevie, you've had this episode of Myth Busters on here for months now. Watch it or delete it 'cus it's taking up space)._ Aside from the obvious reasons that support why they should be married, there's just as many that say they shouldn't. For one, they're _not_ as honest as they should and need to be with one another. Along with that, they underestimate the hell out of each other in terms of their weaknesses and strengths, their pasts, mental and emotional health and the like.

It's not something Steve desires to think about, but as long as the pros outweigh the cons, he'll pretend all the live long day that he and Bucky are ready to commit to each other.

"You haven't told him about the baby yet?"

Becca shakes her head and dries the counter from water. "Not yet. Wade and I were thinking about telling him tonight at the bonfire or maybe Christmas morning."

"Why're you waiting?"

"Bucket's squeamish when it comes to this kinda thing," she says, stopping in her tracks to the fridge to point to her flat stomach. "I tell him I'm pregnant, and all he'll do is imagine Wade plowing his baby sister into a mattress."

He laughs because it is a Bucky thing to think about when his sister is pregnant with her first child. Before Steve can ask if she's thought of any names, the man himself strolls in, strumming the acoustic guitar strapped around his torso.

"Wade's got the fire going," he announces, tuning his instrument and nodding to the back door leading to the beach. "I refuse to sing Christmas carols when it's sixty degrees outside, though."

"Yeah, Bucket, you say that every year and every year we get nothing but a track list of The Howling Commando's greatest hits," she complains, passing him and Steve a beer from the fridge with a beer for Wade, a bottle of water for herself, and a juice box for Mischka in her other hand. She shuts the fridge closed and pads cheerfully across the kitchen to the living room.

Steve follows the siblings close behind and snickers when Bucky retaliates with "Thanks for the support, sis."

Once on the other side of the screen door; Steve, Becca, and Bucky follow the cobblestone path through the garden, passed the pool, and exit the property through the fence and onto warm sand to meet Wade and Mischka sitting on logs before a roaring batch of flames in the middle of a fire pit. The waves roll in colors as dark as black, shadowing the dim, eight o' clock sky fighting for the last few strips of sunlight represented through plum purples, fuchsia, and scattered clouds. At the sound of the water crashing and colliding into one another, Steve realizes he hasn't heard waves since - well, when he was overseas. It wasn't ever _this_ peaceful, though. He hasn't heard waves like this since maybe _before_ Peggy.

_Wait till Sam hears about this. He'll be so proud, Rogers._

"So, what do we wanna start off with first? Scary campfire stories or music?" Bucky asks the group, tossing Mischka her juice box, and plopping on a log beside Becca. The little girl catches it and immediately takes a seat in Steve's lap to get snuggled and warm. The action doesn't surprise him, but he can't help smiling anyway.

"Are you really _not_ gonna do any Christmas songs?" Becca whines, resting her head on Wade's shoulder, intertwining their fingers.

"When you live in New York and Rockefeller Center feels like it's right next door, you get your fill of "All I Want For Christmas is You," Becca," he groans with a brash eye roll and tilted, defiant chin.

"Well, if you're going to play, at least play something _good_," Wade puts in, sounding just as annoyed as Becca looks.

A huff of air scoffs out of Bucky just as he puts a hand on his chest in mock offense. "Well, well, well - that's quite an input for someone who listens to folk radio."

"It's literally not even _that bad_," Wade murmurs under his breath, but Steve and Mischka catch it and laugh regardless.

"Play something everyone knows," Becca argues back, sipping her water. "Lord knows if I have to hear another song about Steve, I will rip my eardrums out."

Pretending to not have heard that, Steve opens his beer and talks a long gulp, but the coolness of the beverage doesn't stop him from burning up and side glancing Bucky who's redder than he is.

"Fine," the brunette clears his throat and adjusts his guitar comfortably in his lap to begin playing notes. "We all know this."

When the melody kicks in Becca resists rolling her eyes, and bites on her tongue to avoid further complaint so to appease Bucky. Her expression says it all, but she sings along anyway when it's time to.

_"So...so you think you can tell...Heaven from Hell? Blue skies from pain...Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?"_

Taking a pause from singing, Becca frowns and takes another drink of water. "Don't you ever get tired of this song?" she asks, rolling her eyes. Instead of answering, Bucky keeps playing notes and nudges her shoulder with his to encourage her to keep singing. She does reluctantly but still sounds like an angel as they harmonize with one another.

_"Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?"_

The following guitar solo last a minute or two, the acoustic of the song fitting the folksy atmosphere of a campfire on a beach.

With each note and flame evaporating into the black of night, the scene grows more and more domestic and natural for Steve. This, vacationing in the Bahamas with his best guy and his family, is what he can grow used to year after year. Soon, with Becca and Wade's contribution to the family, they'll be six of them, and maybe in the impending future, if he and Bucky are committed, they'll be seven or eight. Not before long, the mansion will house generations of Barnes', Rogers', and Wilson's and it'll be just as lively and crowded again as when George and Winnie were married.

Looking across the pit, Steve tries to lock eyes with Bucky, but the brunette's attention is far afield in the direction of the ocean. He inhales then opens his mouth to sing.

_"How I wish...how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year...Running over the same old ground...What have we found? The same old fears...Wish you were here..."_

Fading the song out, Bucky sighs contently and shakes his head up at the sky. "Classic," he comments with a smirk, flipping his guitar pick in the air and catching it. "Requests, anyone? Ones that aren't of the Christmas genre?"

"What do you have against Christmas?" Wade finally asks whimsically. "It's the most wonderful time of the year, Bucky."

"I don't have anything against Christmas. I just don't like Christmas _music_," he answers simply, strumming random notes on the guitar.

"_Scrooge_," Becca sneaks between a feigned cough and sneeze combo, covering her mouth for emphasis then clutching her chest. "Excuse me - didn't realize I had such a tickle in my throat."

"Ha-ha," he replies blandly and shoots her a look, clasping his hand over the strings to stop the notes abruptly. "You're hilarious, Becca."

"Get real, Bucket," she teases, poking his shoulder and giggling like a school girl. "Just admit that you're Krampus and play some Nat King Cole."

Mischka lifts her head from Steve's chest and eyes the group wildly and with a cocked brow. "Who is Krampus?"

With a short laugh, Bucky sets his instrument to the side and rubs his hands together rapidly like a villain out of cartoon. "Oh, 'm glad you asked, baby girl. Perfect slide into the scary stories."

"Bucky, _don't_," Steve warns since the evil gleam in his boy's eyes is telling him all he needs to know. Being such a horror film buff, Bucky knows Steve knows damn well that he's looking to scare the little girl into wetting her pants and giving her nightmares with the story. Steve didn't like the story himself as a kid whenever the neighborhood kids would tell it, so he highly doubts Mischka will.

"Oh, c'mon, Stevie, she's old enough to learn about Krampus."

"She'll get nightmares."

"I'm old enough! I wanna know the story! Tell me!_ Tell meeeeee!_" She cheers bouncing in Steve's lap, urging Bucky on despite Becca and Wade sharing a look of disapproval.

"She wants to know," Bucky insists, smiling devilishly and sitting upright on his log. "And I'm gonna tell her. If she thinks she can handle it, she probably can."

"I _can_ handle it!" She announces, snuggling closer to Steve and crossing her arms. "I'm a big girl. I'm not scared of _anything_."

"We'll see," Steve says under his breath and braces himself. If he could, he'd mute it out to avoid flashback of adolescent nightmares from replaying in his head.

"Okay, so, my dear daughter, Krampus is this German based half-goat, half-demon devil figure with horns and black hair all over his body who beats little kids with a stick for being naughty and _not_ _nice_," he drops his voice and growls in the back of his throat for character. His eyes are narrowed and pointed sharply at the little girl as though to look right into her soul. "He usually arrives on the fifth or sixth of December and clinks around on his hooves with a rod made of chains and bells that he lashes about to let _every little ballerina in New York_ know he's in town."

Mischka's miniature fingers curl slowly but sturdily into Steve's wrists while her fingernails dig deep into the tissue.

"Along with the rod, he carries around a bundle of birch sticks meant to swat naughty children. Just. Like._ You_."

Mischka gulps. "M-_me_?" Her voice shakes, and Steve wants to stop Bucky, but he too is enthralled by this. The guttural timbre of his voice is shaking his bones and Mischka's, and all he can imagine is the homely devil figure clunking its way around the mansion, pursuing Steve down the massive hallways and hitting him upside the head with a rod.

"Mhm," Bucky hums and nods his head slowly, keeping their attention effortlessly. "And sometimes when the swatting doesn't work, he hauls the bad kids down to his house in the underworld. He stuffs them into the same sack that Santa uses for his toys and takes them to a river to drown them."

"B-but I can swim," she protests, shrinking into Steve and never looking away from her father's ominous stare.

"Yeah, but if you try to get away, he'll get even madder and you know what he does next?"

"Wh-what?" she cowers and exhales heavily.

"Well, he usually lets you run and escape. You can run all the way home, but best believe on Christmas morning when you're opening your presents, he's gonna come from under the tree n' _GETCHA_!" Bucky yells aloud, putting a scare in everyone and making the four of them jump an inch in the air at the outburst.

Mischka springs up with a shrill scream and hauls her empty juice box in Bucky's direction before bolting in the direction of the mansion, sand kicking up in the wake of her swift runs and bouncing feet. _"I don't want him to get me!_" She's yelling to herself, rushing into the house blindly, never looking back for anything even though Bucky's calling her back in between taunting laughter.

Wade's trying to conceal his laugh, but Becca and Steve are less than happy about nearly having a heart attack and express it very broadly with their lips in tight lines.

"You're a dick," Wade's chuckling with his whole body vibrating and pointing to Bucky. "That's your _daughter_, man. But that was _t-t-too good_."

"That was fucked up," Becca finally speaks, arms crossed unhappily over her chest.

"You're just mad I scared you just like George did when we were a kid," he points out victoriously, triumphant in the way he brushes his shoulders off and nods to himself.

"_You're_ the one who's gonna have to be dealing with a frantic six year old tonight and probably for the next two weeks," she retaliates and finishes off her water.

Bucky stands, still laughing, and brushes his body of stray sand. "I'm gonna go find her and make sure she doesn't end up getting lost in that big ass house trying to hide from _KRAMPUS_!" He screeches this time, jerking forward with claws bared and eyes wild like a madman towards the fire, getting Becca and Steve to jump again and Wade to cry through his laughter. Just as the juice box had been, Becca's empty water bottle flies for Bucky's head as he giggles childishly and departs from the group to calm his daughter down.

* * *

Even though it took the better half of an hour to happen, Bucky and Steve manage to calm Mischka down enough for her to get to sleep before midnight. The hilarity ensued for Bucky until the child actually began crying fat tears and wallowing for ages about how she'd been naughty this year and that Krampus would come and get her just like Bucky'd said. After much reassurance that the myth isn't real, three bedtime stories, a hot bath, a cup of hot chocolate, and kisses from Steve and Bucky, she finally falls out in her queen bed with mild sniffles and shivers even under her thick comforter.

"Told ya not to scare her," Steve says from the connected bathroom, dabbing toothpaste on his toothbrush. "You _never_ listen to me yet wonder why I'm _always_ right.

"She wasn't the _only_ one who was scared, though," Bucky replies, appearing behind him in the mirror with his metal arm whirring as it the tickles the broad length of Steve's shoulders, making him twitch. "Need me to give you a bath and a bedtime story, too?"

Hunched over the sink and mouth full of foamy, white toothpaste, Steve jerks his hips sideways to have Bucky stumbling into the wall. "_Fuck off_," he tries to say through the froth, but Bucky remains amused even as he regains his balance.

"Aw, is_ my wittle Stevie_ afwaid of mean, ol' _KRAMPUS_?!" he screams, groping Steve's shoulder with his left hand as it jumps in the air at the sudden shout.

Looking straight up, but never stopping his hand to clean his teeth, Steve scowls at the little shit as best he can. Obviously not phased, Bucky winks cheekily at him and waits for Steve to rinse his mouth out and stand before wrapping his arms smooth around him from behind and kissing his bare, mountainous back muscles.

"Lighten up, hon. You know 'm not gonna let some Christmas devil get my baby," Bucky assures and even though he said the exact same thing to Mischka and he's teasing Steve, it doesn't make him feel any less safe or cared for. He fights it, but the muscles on his face force a resistant smiley that he twists his expression to hide. Bucky notices over his shoulder anyway, and nibbles his front teeth into Steve's shoulder.

Their height difference isn't dramatic, but it's noticeable when they're standing like this; Bucky's maybe only a half or two inches shorter, but he might as well be Mischka's height the way he's hiding himself behind Steve for his own humor. Their reflection is crystal clear in the streak, handprint free mirror, and although every blemish and bead of sweat is visible, what Steve's staring at isn't skin deep.

"You're really weird, you know that?" Steve tells him, swatting him with his wet washcloth and nearly missing. Bucky squirms away and exits the bathroom back into the bedroom.

"Yeah, I do. You wanna watch a movie?" He yells from the living room.

"Sure," Steve says back and washes his hands off before drying them and grabbing his pajama shirt off the bed on his way into the living room. Hip jutted out, Bucky stands before the flat screen television, surfing channels, biting down on his finger as each title flashes on the screen.

"_Oof_," huffs the blond when his body slams onto the giant, brown couch. Immediately he notices it's probably as soft as the bed. "What'd you have in mind?" He asks, snuggling in on himself.

"Nothing good is on."

"You have Netflix?"

Bucky turns his head slightly to rolls his eyes and blow an unimpressed raspberry at him. "Real funny, Steve. Trying to Netflix and chill?"

Confused and unsure by the tone and emphasis Bucky'd used, Steve nods. "Ugh, _yah_? Thought that was the plan...?"

"If you wanna have sex, you _don't_ have to drop hints. Literally, you could just say,_ 'hey, willing and horny boyfriend of mine, I'd like to wreck your cute little ass. Let's have sex.'_"

"Um...?"

Bucky turns back from the television to decipher's Steve highly perplexed look. His face softens into a shy smile at the precious golden retriever human behind him. "You don't know what 'Netflix &amp; chill' is, do you?"

"What the fuck - why wouldn't I?" Steve exclaims, adorably frustrated and how simple yet complicating this conversation is. "It's self explanatory, is it not?"

"You really are a hundred years old," Bucky snickers while he's passing multiple channels and doing his best to not let Steve see how hard he's blushing. "'Netflix &amp; chill' is code for_ 'hey come over so we can pretend to watch this movie for the sake of appearances and fuck.'_ It's kinda recent."

"I can't help that I'm not up to date on kids inventing these new synonymous terms for mundane activities," he retaliates with his arms up in defense. "And, I still find it hilarious how you think I'm _so much older_ than you when five years is literally nothing."

"You're right," Bucky agrees, but of course there's more to be said because there's no way in hell Bucky will stand for Steve being right without proving himself right, too. "Five years ain't much," he continues and settles on a random channel before tossing the remote on the couch, swirling on his heels, and joining Steve by sitting in his lap. "However, you act like you're something fresh outta the forties sometimes."

"I do not."

"You do, and it's _very_ cute," he kisses his cheek and plops sideways onto Steve's lap.

At first, their position is awkward, so the smaller of two wiggles and turns in every which direction on Steve; Like an overexcited puppy, he squirms and circles on Steve's lap with great frustration and diligence in his motive and facial expressions since he vehemently refuses to utilize the entire rest of the couch all for the sake of being near his Stevie. Eventually Steve grows impatient enough to hoist himself upwards enough to have Bucky topple over and onto the wooden floor with a hard thud. Before he can react, Steve snakes a stable arm around his waist and body slams him with a bounce onto the couch. Off guard, Bucky can barely complain before Steve lays right on top of him like it's the most normal thing ever. Bucky grumbles something or another, pretending he _doesn't_ like being manhandled but still cuddles warmly with Steve's embrace when he settles his head on Bucky's chest and loops his arms around his torso.

"Play in my hair," he demands, sinking his head deep enough into Bucky's abdomen that the air leaving his nose tickles the muscles ridges of Bucky's stomach. Without argument, Bucky lifts his human arm and begins massaging his fingers into and between the short strands of Steve's hair. That gets Steve melting instantly - this, how they are now in these seconds, is the calm before whatever storm that faces them in the future. Right here and now, cuddled in the tiniest square on this unnecessarily massive couch, while they watch the 2013 remake of _The Great Gatsby_ is what'll be what they remember years from now when they're married and their thousands of kids will keep them up all night, and they'll be begging for a moment's silence.

Until then, they'll hold each other.

Steve's eyelids are drooping and growing heavy around the time Jay is showing off his ginormous closet to Daisy, but he doesn't fully fall asleep when his mind grips onto Bucky's singing voice as it idly hums with the movie's soundtrack and alerts Steve to stay awake to hear. Any other time, it'd be a lullaby, but right now, he's adamant about staying awake. He just doesn't want this day to end.

_"The crazy days, city lights, the way you'd play with me like a child..."_ He sings, and Steve joins in for the sake of it. By the time Steve tiredly finishes the rest of the chorus, Bucky's stopped to think, watches some more of the scene, and kiss Steve's crown. "You know what I love 'bout this movie?"

"Leonardo DiCaprio," the blond quips.

"No," Bucky retorts defensively, but shakes his head. "Well, _yes_ and _no_. Aside from the captivating cinematography and easy-going story telling, it's the soundtrack that's gets me."

"Yeah, 'cus "Crazy in Love" hasn't been used in every fucking romance movie ever."

"_Do. Not. Diss. Beyoncé_." He stops his hand in Steve hair and annunciates each word to its fullest pronunciation.

"Keep going," Steve begs meekly, pushing his head forward into Bucky's hand till he begins rubbing again. "But, yah, it's a pretty good album." Pointing a finger to the television, he gestures to the scene and let's them listen to the song before saying, "_This_ is my favorite track."

"You like Lana Del Rey?"

He nods wordlessly and shuts his eyes. Bucky nor Steve don't say anything else for a while, and the only sound to be heard coming from their quarters of the mansion is the movie.

The film advances to Daisy accidentally murdering Myrtle when Steve re-opens his eyes and realizes he hadn't fallen asleep yet due to Bucky humming some familiar tune right in his ear. It's his emotional subconscious - the one that's strictly in tune with Bucky - that's awake, even though his body is dead tired and willing to sleep. He recognizes the song immediately and plants his chin into Bucky's lower stomach when he lifts his head up. The only way he's gonna get to sleep at all tonight is if his soul is satisfied and stuffed to the brim with its dosage of Bucky.

"What?" His boyfriend's eyes don't deter from the TV. Steve says nothing at first but keeps staring and counting those precious freckles of his. A minute later, his lips press against his chin.

"How've we been dating all this time, but we've _never_ danced together?"

One fidget at a time, Bucky's face quirks at that and then all at once, his face moves to glare at Steve. "We've danced together."

"Not grinding and shit - like actually dancing. Like Belle and Beast." Bucky's eyebrows fly to his hairline at the reference, but Steve just shrugs. "Dating you is like a twenty-four seven Disney trivia game - don't act surprised."

"Um...er, I'm not sure, Stevie," Bucky answers after a moment of thought. "Not sure we've ever danced like Belle and Beast. If we are though, we should get around to The Stork Club. I call being Belle."

"Fair enough."

"Why do you ask?"

"Um, well, it's just a thought. We don't have to wait till we get to The Stork Club to dance, though."

"What'd you have in mind?"

A beat of silence passes between them before a frivolous, open mouthed grin flashes on Steve's face and he raises himself off of Bucky by the elbows. "Get up!"

"Huh?"

Steve gets to his feet, towering over Bucky with his arm outstretched and hand extended for his taking. "Get up and put on some Lana. We're gonna dance."

"Right now?"

"Right now. No time like the present."

"Wouldn't you rather just skip all that and fuck?" Bucky groans like it's a complaint, but rises anyway and takes his time padding to the entertainment center and switching controls. "You know that it happens every time we try and dance together."

"Not this time," Steve promises and stretches to release excess jittery excitement. "We're gonna be gentlemen as fuck and just dance."

Bucky can't fight the fake exasperated cough that leaves his body as he kneels before the controls and switched the input to accommodate his phone. The beginning of various songs fill the room through the surround speakers hung from the ceiling before stopping on one in particular and consuming the room. The harp gets the room floating and Steve so drunk and high on emotion that he doesn't wait for Bucky to come to him but rather approaches him and helps him to his feet. Without any words needed, Steve has Bucky's waist between his greedy fingers and is pulling him forward with the only comfortable place for Bucky's arms to go is around his man's shoulders.

They're intimate just as they were in bed earlier, with no barriers nor space between them, and the aroma and aura of the other being the only thing they can comprehend. Bucky's eyes have expanded to the size of the moon and as deep as the ocean at the sight of Steve so close and wanting him like this. If his manners deceived him, he'd call Steve's blushing cheeks and lack of rhythm to attention but instead says "Belle and Beast didn't dance like _this_."

Upon that statement, Steve finally noticing they've just been twirling in a tight circle, defiant of the melody, with their foreheads flat against the others. He shrugs, uncaring, and leans in to give Bucky a chaste, unsuspecting kiss to his pouted lips. The man's tastes is a tang much like the beer he'd had at the bonfire while his smell permeates like the salt of the sea and Christmas.

The song progresses, so the only time Bucky would ever pull away from Steve's kisses is to sing along._ "It's you, it's you. It's all for you...everything I do...I tell you all the time...Heaven is a place on Earth with you..."_

_"Tell me all the things you wanna do..."_ Steve joins in contently with no attempts to sound better than Bucky. _"I heard that you like the bad boys, honey, is that true? It's better than I ever even knew..."_

Their voices mix well regardless of Steve being tone deaf as all hell. At some point in the midst of their duet, the songs completely blocked from their senses and all they listen for is the other's voice.

"_They say that the world was built for two... Only worth living if somebody is loving you...Baby, now you do."_

The chorus repeats multiple times as the beat enhances and layers upon itself, sending them deeper into a dreamland - a fucking fairy tale, even. It's a shame that Steve's had to wait _this_ long and hard for a sliver of experiencing this euphoria. He would die _so fucking happy_ in Bucky's arms right now...

"I always imagined being truly in love feels like how a Lana song sounds," Bucky confesses. Their lips are merely an inch apart, but the rest of them might as well be glued together.

"And?"

"Even though we've never played a single video game together or done half the stuff she's talking about in her songs, I get it."

Their lips meet with the slightest of touches, but before the song can even end, their breaths are hitching while their tongues swirl in a somewhat gross and hasty fashion lubricated by saliva. Steve twists his neck to rightfully invade Bucky's mouth with his tongue at a comfortable angle while Bucky insistently eases himself forward as close as he can so that their mouths merge into one. Spread inhumanly wide and desperate, their lips beat without finesse or pattern together, sucking in flavors and inhaling scents in what is probably the most intense make out session they've ever had. Even as their noses bump constantly, they don't stop or hesitate when they travel backwards and right atop each other on the floor.

The thump to the ground is painful but bearable since they use the other as a cushion for their fall. Electric waves of energy course in their veins, getting them  
even more excited than normal - it feels like they're on fire with how hot his insides are at Bucky's touch. Like a hot wire, he's live and dangerous if someone gets in his way of ravishing Bucky to his basis of existence. There's no reason why he wants to eat this man alive, but man,_ does he_. Judging by the glassy and predatory look in Bucky's eyes every time he opens his eyes to check Steve's expression and the snarl of his mug, he's just as vicious in getting the most he can from what they're doing.

Steve wrestles and forces Bucky under him, separating his legs with his thighs then inserting his hips into the dip of his body so their growing erections are touching with the only boundary being their pants.

Never disconnecting from each other's lips, they rush in a collaborative effort to get their pants off, but it seems like too much of a task when Steve tastes this good and Bucky's hips are swirling so deliciously fluid against Steve's crotch.

"Thought you said we _weren't_ gonna fuck afterwards," Bucky hisses between laps of Steve's mouth on his.

"And you believed me?" Steve hums into the warm flesh of Bucky's face, pushing down with all his might to get their cocks touching and his boyfriend writhing and moaning whorish into his ear and into the room. A needy metal hand smacks flat on the left side of Steve's ass to knead the muscle and guide his stuttering hips deeper and closer so that when they slide against each other just right, pleasure soars and ebb in continuous motions and waves through them like a drug that's hard to kick.

"Baby, _fuck_..."

"You like that, baby boy?" Steve taunts with his Sir voice, grounding harder into him. Their pajama pants are thin enough for them to feel every bulge, vein, and throb in their cocks.

"_Yes, sir_," he whines, squeezing Steve's ass cheek then securing the man into his leggy embrace, caging him in. "Dick feels so good on mine, sir - it'd feel even better _in_ me..."

"Is that what you want?" He asks this more to tease than to clarify. "Want me, baby boy? Want Sir to take care of you?"

"F-fuck me, sir..."

"My sweet boy, you ain't got a clue how good you look when you're begging for me."

Mouth agape yet still receiving kisses from Steve's wandering lips, a noise between a whine and a high pitch giggle emits itself from the back of Bucky's throat to express the pleasure of relieving such obscene praise.

"Yeah, 'm gonna take good care of you, baby boy," he continues, drunker and higher than he were before when he inhabits himself with Bucky's scent in his nose and taste on his tongue.

The younger man's neck involuntary extends under Steve's running mouth to be blessed with more soft pecks and hungry bites. As badly as he wants to be freed to rock Steve's world, death would be the only favorable option if he had to move from under Steve's protective weight and be left exposed in the open. His body's unwilling him to form actually words like more please, sir - the only noises he can functionally make are moans and childish whimpers that Steve can translate anyway.

"Gonna treat you so right in that big ass bed of ours that the only thing you'll be able to think about when you get in it is how hard your Sir gave it to you. You'd like that, huh, baby boy?"

"_Yes, sir.._."

"You want me to fuck you, love?" Bracing himself, Steve thrusts against the younger man a few times and cries out at the friction it produces. This is positively sinful, but _fuck, it feels good. _As if to demonstrate, Steve keeps thrusting as though he were already deep inside him - it gets Bucky howling and gripping his ass harder as encouragement.

"_Ohhhhhh_...oh, baby, _fuck_... Can practically feel that dick in me now..."

"You like that, huh, babe..."

"Fuck, I-I-I I do."

"I do _what_?!" Steve barks, awaiting his title, instead jumps what is probably a foot in the air at the inquisitive "What're you guys doing?" that stems from the living room's entrance.

It's hurried and deathly the urgent way Bucky tosses Steve off of him and rolls like there's a fire onto his stomach to hide the tent in his pants from his curious and highly confused daughter. She's staring at them, traumatized and awaiting explanation.

Steve scrambles too before laying on his stomach adjacent Bucky and wondering when in the fuck she'd gotten there, how much she'd seen, and why she doesn't knock.

"Um, er, ugh... H-h-h-hi, baby girl!" Bucky babbles, red in the face and unprepared to deal with this.

Steve grimaces and his stomach churns. He prays she hadn't seen too much to ask too many questions.

"What were you doing?" She repeats, gripping the end of her nightgown, her stance standoffish in the threshold, shooting daggers at them like they'd sinned before God.

"We were, _ugh_," Bucky starts, gazing towards the ceiling like a suitable lie will drop from the sky. "Um...er, Stevie and I were just-" he elongates the syllable unnecessarily and clears his throat multiple times to buy him a few seconds.

"Your Daddy and I were wrestling." Steve interrupts Bucky's train of thought, and the brunet snaps his jaw shut with a clink. Side-eyeing Steve, he exhales like his throat held it hostage and feigns amusement with comical laughter.

"Yes, Mischka, _wrestling_," he parrots, leaning on Steve and nodding in agreement. When Mischka's face softens with convinced resolve, he smiles gratefully at Steve. "He and I were just wrestling, 'cus we're big, dumb, boys at heart. Did we wake you? We got a tad carried away and didn't realize we were being so loud."

She shakes her head no then lets it hang forward shyly, shielding her shame behind sad, drooping eyes, pouted lips, and her arms locked behind her back handcuff style. Not only is there shame present in her precious features, but fear - her frazzled hair indicates maybe she'd been tossing and turning, and it's easy to tell why she's here.

"Had a bad dream, huh, kid?" Steve says, fighting to not strangle the man next to him for telling that damn story.

"Yeah."

"About Krampus?"

She nods.

"Aw, sweetie," Bucky coos and checks his lap before sitting up straight. Nothing says boner repellent like having his six year old daughter walk in on him acting like Steve's bitch. Once he's gone down completely, he opens his arms to her as an invitation in which she accepts immediately. "Daddy's sorry he told you that story," he apologizes, rocking his baby girl in his lap soothingly between kissing her forehead. "It's not real, Mischka. _I promise_. I swear on my right arm it's not. And if it were, you know you've been a nice girl all year and that 'm not gonna let anyone take you."

"It's not _me_ I was scared about." Her eyes flicker from both men's concerned gazes and to the floor. "It was _you_. I was afraid he was gonna take you guys away from me."

"Honey, no one's gonna come and get me. _Or_ Steve," he reassures his daughter, caressing her back in generous circles. "You know we're both military, baby. We're too trained to let anyone get us."

She doesn't seem sold, but there's a flash of trust in her expression when one side of her mouth curves into a halfway smile and nods. The child leans in to be snuggled against Bucky's metal arm and mumbles, "You _promise_ you're not gonna let him get me?"

"I promise. I swear on every pique turn and sauté that I'm not gonna let Krampus or _anybody_ get you." There's so much conviction in his voice that it kinda turns Steve on. He absolutely loves when he's in Daddy mode - so stern, yet caring and even a little controlling, but in a comforting way. At some point, Steve might mess up and call _him_ 'Daddy' instead of the other way around; that'd probably ruin the link for him, being an actual father and all, but it's something he can't knock till he tries.

"C-c-can I stay in here with you guys? Just for tonight. So that Daddy can protect me and Stevie can protect Daddy? _Pleeee_-"

"Yes," Steve answers immediately, despite the groove he and Bucky had developed moments before. As much as he'd love to send the little girl back to bed and keep having sex with Bucky, it didn't feel right. Even with her gone, he probably won't get hard again now that all he can think about is_ Krampus, Krampus, Krampus..._

Besides, they have the entire remainder of their two week trip to themselves. Sparing _one_ night with the one who got them together in the first place wouldn't hurt anybody.

Bucky doesn't object but instead lifts off the wooden floor to carry her to the bedroom with her body tucked safely into his. "You're gonna sleep right in the middle of us, so we can keep you safe."

"Okay, Daddy."

Steve turns the television off and disconnects Bucky's phone from the AUX cord before turning the lights off in the living room and entering back into the bedroom where Mischka's being tucked into the comforters by a weary Bucky. The look on his face resembles regret and a shame of his own.

"Do you want another story?" He asks carefully, rubbing her scarlet cheeks with a flesh finger.

"No." The child sinks deeper into the mattress. "I just wanna sleep."

"Good call," Bucky agrees and glances up to Steve and quickly back to his daughter when he figures the look Steve's giving him is a disappointed on. In all actuality, he's not upset or anything. Steve just doesn't like when his baby girl's all shaken up like this.

"You're gonna need your rest for going into town tomorrow," he continues and gets on one side of Mischka while Steve dims the lights in the room and then slides in on the other, completing the parentheses. He's never slept with both Bucky and Mischka in one bed before; it's comforting actually - reassuring even. Now he has two beings to watch over; That's a habit he doesn't mind adjusting to.

"Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, папа." She says with a yawn and lays her head on Bucky's chest. He gasps lightly and his eyes spring open to look right into Steve's above Mischka's head.

"What?" Steve whispers.

"She called you... Nothing." Bucky aborts the thought and closes his eyes again to drift. "Nothing. Just get to sleep."

And Steve's body finally lets him.

* * *

Although he doesn't expect it, Steve wakes up in that big bed by himself and the spaces that were once occupied by his boyfriend and Mischka are empty and neatly made.

Before his half awake brain can even process that it's morning and he's not in either his nor Bucky's bed in Brooklyn, he reaches for his phone charging on the nightstand to check his e-mails and text messages. His commission inbox for work is full as well as his regular e-mail - there's a lot of nonsense about work in there that he's not mentally ready to handle so he swipes a few times to read his texts.

There's some for Sam, Darcy, and even Tony, but he ignores them all to read the one sent just half an hour ago from Bucky.

**BB:** _Bring your ass to the beach when u wake up_

"Polite," he mutters at his phone, uses the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and heads right to the beach before doing anything else. He waves with a groggy "Good morning!" to Wade and Becca on his way out while they cook breakfast in the kitchen.

Down the path to the beach, Steve catches sight of Mischka and Bucky frolicking in and out of the waves together. They run hand in hand with blindingly bright smile on their faces every time the tide comes in and pretend to disapprove of getting their feet wet.

_That's your family, Rogers. Congratulations._

The sand is hot between his bare toes when he steps out the fence and strolls his way to the two of them. An instant smile graces his face when Mischka runs towards him a bull only to grab his hand and drag him in the direction of the waves. He can't recall _ever_ seeing her _this_ carefree, especially with her hair out of its regular bun - and wet for that matter - tangling and swinging around as she leaps and does flips in the shallowest area of the water. This might be the first he's seen her let herself be a regular six year old and not the immaculate ballerina who always has her hair done and a mean scowl on her face.

Steve allows his pajama pants to get wet at the ends before skipping away with a boisterous laugh when he pretends to let Mischka chase him. Bucky stands to the side, watching intently and lovingly at the loves of his life interacting so easily.

Their spontaneous game of tag lasts all of five minutes before Becca's calling them in for breakfast. Mischka hurries inside, and Steve's following lose behind before Bucky's metal hand is pulling him by his shoulder and twirling him in for a kiss.

"_Mmmm_." Caught off guard but consenting, Steve leans into the kiss and parts his lips against Bucky's so that one lip is stacked atop the other. "G'mornin' to you, too."

Peppering pecks on his chin, Bucky hums back, "How'd you sleep?"

"Best sleep I've had in a while. That bed is magic."

Pink surfaces Bucky's tanning skin to accompany his closed mouth, bashful grin. "The kid asked me about what we were doing last night again."

"She didn't believe the wrestling thing?"

"She did to a certain extent."

"Is Daddy not ready for 'the talk' yet?" Steve teases frivolously, poking his nose into his cheek. The deadpan glare that Steve receives for that gets him laughing, but it's out of pure love when Bucky punches his shoulder.

"Mischka doesn't need to know about sex any time soon. My baby girl's strictly focused on her school work and dance. No boys."

"Or girls if she takes after you."

That earns him a thoughtful but unnerved look this time. "Lucky you has a daughter who only has to worry about where she wants to pee and if she can some of your dinner."

Carter's another _-person? Being?_ \- that'd be proud of him right now. She'd positively lose her mind at how big this place would be to run and play around; next year they're definitely bringing her along.

"Her knowing about sex doesn't mean she's gonna suddenly be focused on boys," he reminds him, pulling him along to walk with their hands intertwined. "It's for the sake of knowledge - you know public schools suck at sexual education. Plus, she's _far too young_ to even comprehend if she wanted to have sex with someone-"

"Oh, _God_." Bucky growls guttural, head thrown back with dread and pale faced at just the thought. It's no wonder to why this subject makes him squeamish. "I don't wanna talk about it. _Stop_. Let's talk about something else."

So, they do. Topics of discussion vary from the house, going into town later, a song Bucky'd been working on, the upcoming holiday plans - an hour and Becca calling them in for breakfast three times later, they're nearing the end of the beach and Bucky suddenly cuts Steve off and hops in his trail of steps. Steve doesn't expect him to, but Bucky's encases his head in between his hands and forces their lips together again.

It's a harsh kiss fueled by unsolicited fervor that steals the breath right from his lungs. Initially, he wants to push Bucky off and scold him to interrupting his story, but it's impossible to reject such a taste, so he dives in further and massages their eager lips together _over and over and over..._

Seconds later, Bucky pulls away to search Steve's face cautiously while pecking his mouth delicately.

He doesn't react at first, but when Steve opens his eyes, his lips are on fire and taste like Bucky's toothpaste.

"W-what was that for?"

The stare Bucky gives him is one of worry and doubt, it looks like. It's an unsettling look because his eyes are wide and innocent - like a deer's - his lips are pouted and shining of Steve's saliva. His nose scrunches and nostril flares every other second like he's fighting a sneeze or crying. That shy pink from his cheeks has advanced to his neck, ears, and chest.

It's not a look Steve enjoys. "_What_?"

"I, um, I got something to tell you."

_Uh-oh._ Judging by the shift in Bucky's confidence, the slumped look and posture he's adapted, and the aura of bad energy that's radiating his frame, someone's feelings are about to get severely hurt.

"What is it?"

Hesitant is an understatement. Bucky bites his lip enough for Steve to pull it from under his teeth and shake his head like _'you're gonna hurt yourself doing that.'_

"Baby, what is it?"

Steve pretends not to notice his off putting stance and chooses not to react upon seeing it so not to scare Bucky into losing his trust in telling him. Bucky's like an animal in which he can pick up and react off of danger and ominous presences - a military thing - so before he can get upset over what he doesn't know, Steve exhales deeply. Whatever this is _won't_ be good.

"Um," he starts, re-weaving their fingers back together and dropping his head. "It's been bothering me for a while. I'm telling you because it doesn't feel like I'm being wholeheartedly honest with you if I don't."

_Fuck._ Steve gulps. "Yeah?"

"And, uh, I did not lie, but I ain't the whole truth," his voice is shaking much like his hands, "there's _more_ to _why_ I'm quitting prostitution."

Steve's breathing falters. _Don't say it. Whatever it is, don't say it. If it's making you this nervous to tell me, just wait on it._ "Just say it." He's not impatient, but he's nerve wracked by the suspense.

With a deep inhale and a nervous chuckle, Bucky looks Steve dead in his soul and sighs out, "A few weeks ago, one of my clients told me he's in love with me."


	19. 19

_Red._

That's _all_ Steve can see, hear, taste, sense and smell when those words leave Bucky's mouth.

It doesn't register in its entirety till Bucky tries to give him a sympathetic smile and ends up cowering when Steve grants him the deadliest look imaginable. Seconds graduate to minutes before he reacts, but it feels like years before he even thinks to.

The red intensifies.

Bucky's stiff as a board, on guard and awaiting a response, urgent for him to say something - Between spots and shades of red, Steve envisions himself punching whoever the client who thought he had a right to say such a thing to Bucky the fuck out.

How does one respond to such news?

How is Steve supposed to?

Being the rational guy he is, Sam or Darcy would expect him to brush it off and not get so insecure - kinda like how he is now. Maybe a Steve prior to meeting Bucky would've let it slide and not worry himself over something so trivial because he's confident that Bucky only has eyes for him.

_Not_ this time, though.

Steve's entire being is on fire, and whatever level of jealousy he's experiencing at the moment is amped by anger, disrespect, and downright selfishness. It's not rocket science as to why on the surface someone else other than him would feel such ways for Bucky. The guy's a fucking blessing and anyone would be lucky to have him in their life.

But the absolute audacity of this nobody thinking he had _the fucking right_ to tell his boy that he loves him as if he's _allowed_ to! While Steve doesn't mind Bucky not telling his clients about their relationship for the sake of professionalism and safety, _this_ would make a great opportunity for Bucky to pitch in and tell him that he'd told the fucker that he was already taken so he doesn't feel like the biggest jackass on the island.

And without meaning to, he grows suspicious.

Why would this client tell Bucky that if he didn't feel compelled to? A few wordless fucks and business transactions with Bucky couldn't have made the poor sucker possibly believe he'd fallen in love with him - right? It had to be deeper. He refuses to think so, but what're the chances of Bucky having led the guy on? Did this nobody fall for that fake sexy facade Bucky solely uses for clients or did something else happen? Did some twist of fate cause Bucky's real side - his dorky, sarcastic, childish, caring, and comforting side - to reflect in their times together and now his clients truly and wholeheartedly fallen him?

_No_.

Bucky wouldn't do that to Steve or himself.

It's always been just business between Bucky and his clients. There's no room for falling in love when someone's sucking your bank account dry in just a matter of minutes by batting his eyelashes and feigning affection - there's no goddamn way.

It's _impossible_ for Bucky to _deliberately_ to hurt Steve. He's innocent in all this.

With an exhale, Steve growls out, "_What_?" like he needs it repeated. The response shocks Bucky, so he minutely glances around like he'd see a witness who heard the same thing he did.

"Ugh," he stutters, unsure by the glazed tint in his boyfriend's eyes. "Um, I-I-I said that one of my clients told me he's in love with me. 'M not seeing him anymore if you're worried about-"

"_Why_?"

Even though he hears how evil he sounds, Steve doesn't falter nor glare away even when Bucky cringes at the tone and depth of his voice; if the aggressively demanding undertone weren't enough to scare someone, the look alone would.

It's scaring Bucky in the same way it turns him on - like a child, he feels like he's done something wrong and is under Steve's consideration on how severe the punishment he desperately deserves and wants should be. At the other end of the spectrum, he's ready to bite back if Steve wants to try him since it's unclear if the attitude is directed towards him or what'd he'd said.

Either way, there's a twitch in Bucky's boxers he's not equipped to fight and decides to let himself get menacingly stared down and stutter to answer. Right now, Steve appears about ready to either devour him or start a fight; Both options startle his demeanor.

"Um, well, I don't think it's appropriate to keep seeing a client who just-"

"_No_," Steve barks viciously and puts a halting hand up to Bucky, getting him to shut his mouth and furrow his brow in disagreement. "Not why you're not seeing him anymore. Why did he tell you he loves you?"

The question is so outrageous that it throws Bucky off enough that Steve can physically see him trying to adjust. He's clearly upset by the accusatory tone that Steve deliberately uses, but he remains neutral and shrugs. "I-I don't know. I didn't stay to ask."

"Did he say it _before_ or _after_ you _fucked_ him?" Steve spits out condescendingly, and it alerts Bucky more than anything else the man's said their entire walk. Bucky likes to play naive for the sake of fucking, but he's the farthest thing from stupid and he knows when Steve's angry even though it doesn't happen often. He can especially tell when Steve's angry _at him_, and know is one of those rare times.

"He said it before anything could happen," he answers with his head cocked to its side. "And I didn't fuck him. I left right after and went home to _my boyfriend_ and daughter. Anymore questions?"

Steve catches onto his smart ass within a second. If he weren't infuriated, he'd take him inside and teach him a lesson loud enough to disturb the main land. "I asked you _why_."

"_I don't know why,_ babe, okay?" Bucky tells him truthfully, and Steve can definitely tell he's telling the truth just by the exasperated look on his face and deceived gaze in his eye. "Look, he was just some lonely kid that wanted to lose his virginity when I met him and when I did and kept seeing him, he got attached. I'm sure he's not really in love with me; it's just lust. _That's it_."

"How old is he?"

"What?"

Impatiently, Steve grits out, "_How. Old. Is. He_?"

"Why does that matter?"

"So when I punch his face in I can know whether I'm gonna catch a case or not!"

Bucky's face animates astoundingly with great despair. "He's only nineteen, Steve. He has _no_ concept of _literally anything_, least of all love."

"Yet you take him seriously enough to quit doing this when he tells you he's in love with you?"

"Um, _yah_?" He quips like it's obvious, relaxing his expression when Steve does. "As far fetched as I believe his feelings are, I'm not some kinda monster that would manipulate and toy with someone's emotions just for the sake of money. When he said it, it _scared_ me. It was like another wake up call that I'm playing with real people and real emotions, and I don't wanna do it anymore."

"How noble," the blond mutters sarcastically under his breath. Bucky still catches it and pretends he hadn't when he continues.

"If you're worrying if I said it back or some dumb shit like that, I didn't. I left immediately and haven't said two words to him since."

Steve sneers at that despite it being just what he wants to hear. As true as that may be, he's not a complete fool to believe that if this kid is in love with Bucky as much as he says he is, he'll pursue Bucky to no end until he tells him he has a boyfriend - something Bucky'd never do. Then again, if Steve were the client, he'd never stop till Bucky is his even when he knows Bucky belongs to someone else. He gets it. It's entirely unfair how _this amazing human being_ wastes his time with someone who can't even tell him he loves him back. Bucky's made to be loved and appreciated to the highest degree. The client knows just as well and Steve even without having to meet each other.

Which drives his next assumption: "Doesn't mean he hasn't tried to talk to you. He has, hasn't he?"

Bucky's hesitation is all he needs to confirm his suspicion. As soon as Steve shoots him that disapproving frown, Bucky's jumping to defend himself.

"I don't answer the phone or anything. I-"

"But you'd like to, wouldn't you?"

To his surprise, Bucky nods with sincerity and no means to start a war or a fight over this even when Steve's baiting him. "To just comfort him, maybe? Tell him why I can't deal with that and that he's wasting his time trying to reach me. I don't fucking know, but I felt awful just leaving him hanging."

"_Why_? If it's just business, why do you give a fuck that he's in love with you? Why's he so special?" Each word out his mouth draws him closer to getting unreasonably angrier at Bucky instead.

"Because I know one or two things about telling someone you love them and they don't say it back."

"And just what the fuck does _that_ mean?"

"It means _exactly_ what you think," he answers. "Xavier never told me he loved me no matter how much I begged him to. Brock did, but he's a conniving asshole who introduced this whole thing to me in the first place and he ain't got a sincere bone in his body," he takes a breath, shakes his head towards the sand between his toes, and mumbles, "What Nat and I had _wasn't_ romantic. I was forced into marrying my best friend by her crazy Russian family or else they would've made us abort our baby."

Steve's quiet at that. He huffs out a breath and makes a mental note on pursuing that story later because he's still pissed off.

"You really think you're the first person I've been with who _hasn't_ said it back?" Bucky scoffs to shield just how much it hurts to tell him this. The struggle to maintain strong in the face of Steve's anger is all in his sad eyes and the frown between his brow.

Ultimately, it breaks Steve's heart down to its core to hear Bucky talk and look like this. However, he still sees red and his defense mechanism eggs him farther into an unnecessarily interrogation because even though while Bucky seems sincere and honest, Steve doesn't forget who the man was when they first met. Who knows which personality Bucky's using to psych Steve out now?

"If this is some sneaky way into manipulating me into saying what I won't, then that's really low of you and I find it downright adorable that you think I don't know you well enough to know when I'm being played." Steve never thought he'd outright say that as bluntly and mean as he just did, but when Bucky registers it, his face falls then livens right back up in such a fury that it paints him red.

"Are you really _that_ insecure and self absorbed that you think that?" Bucky barks but maintains a leveled volume despite how his voice cracks with underuse. "I tell you all the time that I'm not pressuring you, and you hit me with _that_ bullshit? _Are you fucking serious_?"

"Well, why else would you tell me, Bucky, if _that's_ not _why_?"

The brunet's pale eyes expand to saucers. His eyebrows fly to his hairline while his frame trembles. _That's_ when Steve knew he fucked up.

"Maybe because _I wanted to be honest with you_! It's been gnawing at me, and it feels like I've been lying or cheating on you everyday I didn't tell you. It's about to be a new year, and I didn't wanna carry all this baggage with me, _especially_ with _you_. Deny it all you want but they're too many goddamn secrets between us. I didn't want this to be one of them.

"I didn't tell you the guy was in love with me as some plan to make you jealous and say you love me too when I know you're not ready to commit like that. I didn't tell you to be malicious. What the hell, Steve?" He inhales and throws his arms out as if to push bad energy away from their circle and continues slyly with, "But if you wanna take it that way, fine. You got quite defensive, there. Does it piss you off that someone else is doing your job for you?"

"No one could ever do what the fuck I do for you," Steve growls, turned on and pissed off. "You are to block his number immediately, Bucky, or I swear I'll-"

"It's _done_! It's been done." He ends up sounding like a smart ass just to crawl under Steve's skin. "And you know why?"

"Do enlighten me, Mr. Righteousness." Steve's no stranger to sarcasm either. "I'll bet it's some prolific reason."

"It's because_ I love you_!" Bucky chuckles incredulously like he can't bear to hear what he's hearing from Steve. "You know what that is, right? _Love_? When you put someone else before you because you give a fuck about their happiness? Or maybe when you don't accuse them of trying to hurt you? Trusting them, too?"

Nostrils flared, Steve bares his teeth and fills the space between he and Bucky to poke his chest with a heavy finger. "If that's how the fuck you feel, then be with your client! If it bothers you so goddamn much that I _physically_ can't tell you something that intimate and I'm afraid of giving myself to you completely, I suggest you get used to waiting or be with him."

"_I don't wanna fucking be with him!_" Bucky exclaims in frustration. "I'd wait _a million_ _years_ to hear you say it," his hands are up in defense, warding Steve off like he's a wild animal. "How _badly_ did Peggy hurt you for you to constantly think that saying you love me will be like some curse and I'll automatically hurt you?"

At her mention, the last string of hope for salvaging the rest of the day breaks and diminishes with the waves and the wind around them.

The animal, the heathen, the danger, the Sir, and the anxiety within Steve multiply upon themselves, resulting in letting out a strained and guttural growl in the back of his throat that directs every bit of anger he's harboring towards Bucky. The air around them grows hot, humid, and think, making it a challenge to breathe for both parties.

"Oh, you wanna know _how bad she hurt me_?!" Steve roars with bass, getting Bucky to cower again and ease away from him instantly. "If you wanna know how bad, Bucky,_ fucking ask her_! Ask her and thank her for doing what she did - thanks to her, you'll _never_ hear what you wanna hear from me! _NEVER_!"

At this point, Steve's hoarse and Bucky's still trembling all over like a tiny puppy in between distancing himself with scared steps backwards, guarded and standoffish like a stranger to Steve. The outburst has developed Bucky's whole face to tighten and scrunch painfully in a mediocre attempt to shields his watering, widened eyes and fearful lip quivering. In the slightest, Bucky tries to stick his chin out defiantly to appear strong in the face of Steve's fury and only ends up letting a single tear fall and drip off his chin. That baby face is still like a stove top, and his entire aura went from heartfelt to hurt in a nanosecond the moment Steve raised his voice. The man looks like he's been slapped straight across the face, and Steve's heart shatters at the fact that he put that look on his face.

_How could you say that to him? Did you really just say that to Bucky, of all goddamn people? Rogers, did you really just tell the only soul you've ever truly connected with that you'd never tell him you love him?_

_What the fuck is wrong with you?_

Steve backs away, too.

_Look at him; look how much pain he's in. Why'd you say that? In what world is any of what you just screeched at him true?_

The feeble fashion in which Bucky's body's is shrinking in on itself - hung head, hunched shoulders that get his arms dragging, and feet bent and hidden halfway into the sand - practically screams to be taken in and enveloped just to feel safe and wanted again.

_Baby boy... My sweet baby, I'm sorry. Sir didn't mean it. I'm sorry...fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it...swear on my ma that I didn't mean it..._

It's merely seconds into their stare down does Bucky fight but lose against that first sniffle and allows the steady flow of tears to pour like rain down his youthful face. The sight of it clutches at his heart and makes him tense when like a lost little boy, Bucky blinks at him, hurt storming in those eyes, and sniffles while wiping his tears away with the back of his flesh hand. His upper body jerks upward as a lone fucking hiccup escapes him and burns into Steve's memory.

The shift is almost instantaneous in both Steve and Bucky when they make the conversion from arguing boyfriends to apologetic assholes who have some serious comforting to do.

"No, no, _no_," Steve's muttering and his body moves on that distinctive autopilot that has his mind, body, and soul entirely wired to Bucky - virtually nothing can impede of his mission to take care of him and make his baby boy feel whole again, not even himself. Much to his surprise - but not much a surprise at all - Bucky crumbles with a painful sounding catch of air in his throat and falls willingly right into Steve's rushing embrace. Instead of holding Steve back, he lets himself be held and cries, cries, and cries, absolutely drenching Steve's neck and shirt collar.

And even though Steve's the one that put him in such a state to need coddling and soft words of comfort, Steve's the _only one_ that can supply those things and make Bucky like new again. It's been said before that the one that knocks you down can't be the same person to pick you up, but in this case neither Steve nor Bucky care how unhealthy or abnormal it is. If it were anybody else to do such a thing for Bucky besides Steve, he'd feel incompetent and simply useless. In time like these, he sees Bucky as his mess that he has to fix; no one else can _but_ Steve.

_No. Not Bucky. You can't lose Bucky, Rogers._

Steve _knows_ he fucked up. Bucky knows he didn't mean it, but with a little push, any type of truth can be revealed. Not only did Bucky get his feelings severely hurt, Steve feels like a monster. In no way shape or form did he deserve that, and it'll take the rest of the year for Steve to forgive himself, or more importantly Bucky to forgive him and trust him.

"No, baby, _no_..." Steve's chanting into Bucky's scalp, rubbing his back soothingly yet still squeezing so that Bucky can feel safe despite what just occurred. "I'm sorry. _I'm sorry._ I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. Baby boy, _I'm sorry._ No. _No_. No, I'm sorry. _Please_..."

The crying doesn't stop, and Steve doesn't expect it to. Bucky probably can't even hear him but it doesn't deter him from going on and on.

"_You're_ my world. My whole _everything_. I'm _sorry_... I'm _so sorry. Please_, baby. _Please_ know I _didn't_ mean that. _Not a fucking word._ No. _No_. Bucky, babe, _no_..."

It's muffled, but Bucky breaks through to him in the midst of his tears buried on Steve's neck. "_You yelled at me..._"

"I'm sorry._ I'm sorry_. Fuck, no... Sweetie, _no_, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"_You_ _yelled_ _at me_, Steve," he whines out, traumatized and thoroughly scarred by the side of Steve he'd just witnessed. There's a sting in Steve's clavicle down to his chest that could only be the feeling of his heart tearing in two.

"Bucky, _baby_ -"

"_Why_?" He drawls out the syllable by a good ten seconds, drowning in his own tears, and mortified. "Wh-wh-why'd you yell at me? I didn't _mean_ to make you_ so mad..."_

This doesn't sound like _his_ Bucky.

This is the scared, self deprecating, low Bucky from the first night they'd been intimate when he cried countless tears from pushing his memories of Xavier's abusive behavior onto Steve. That Bucky was petrified and ready to give himself up to that kind of torture so not to get entirely hurt.

That Bucky looked at Steve like a fucking savior.

The way Bucky looked at Steve just now is more than likely a look he'd given Brock or Xavier many times before when they'd force him into something he didn't wanna do, hurt him, or yell at him.

Just like Steve did.

The pit of Steve's stomach grows, and his heart drops straight to his ass.

Bucky's been someone's baby for so long there's an involuntary personality deep inside of him that solely for submitting and pleasing others. It's only triggered when it senses past behaviors and features such as yelling at him or something along those lines. It brings back memories through vivid flashbacks and someone as especially sensitive as Bucky can't take it.

_Would Brock or Xavier comfort him like this after they'd hurt him?_

"I'm _not_ mad, baby boy. Swear 'm not."

"But you yelled... _You yelled at me._ Y-y-you said you'd_ never tell me you love me_... Stevie, you don't love me?"

_Of course, they did._

He only knows this because anyone who's ever met Bucky knows that he's _not_ the type to come along everyday - he's the relationship type, always waiting to be taken care of as well as doting on his significant other with endless amounts of love to give. He's easily impressed - a hopeless romantic - and longing for constant affection - even if Brock or Xavier didn't offer arms to feel safe in, he'd find a way to feed himself with affection.

"I do._ I do._ _You_ know _I do._ You said so yourself, my sweet baby. _Oh_, my sweet baby, I'm _sorry_," Steve rocks them and tucks his head into his shoulder. "Cry it out, love. That was dumb of me to say. I'm _sorry_... I just got angry," he sighs, unhappy with that excuse. That's exactly what an abuser would say to his victim.

"You _hate_ me. _You yelled at me._" The vulnerable and hurt wails get louder and more distressed the tighter Steve holds him. He's replaying his own words in his head, and it's easy to see how Bucky could come up with such a conclusion. Opposing Bucky's doubts with begging and endless apologies aren't gonna break through to him in the state he's in no time soon; the only real way for Bucky to understand that Steve's more apologetic than anything and fully prepared to suffer for his mistake is if he matches Bucky's submissiveness with the only mechanism that undoubtedly always works in making Bucky his whole, beautiful self again.

It's in his nature for Steve to change his octave and lower his voice to a hushed, wet whisper meant for just them two to hear. Through wavering tears of his own, he sucks in a breath and dips his head low enough so that his lips align perfectly with Bucky's right ears.

"Baby boy, listen to me, okay? Stevie's sorry. _I'm sorry_. I _didn't_ mean a goddamn word of _anything_ I just said to you. I need you to know that _you_ didn't do or say anything wrong."

"I didn't mean to make you mad," he repeats with uneven exhales. "Just wanted to t-t-tell you the truth. Stevie, _I'm_ sorry..."

"Don't apologize. Not for anything. It's _me_. It's all on _me_. _I'm_ in the wrong. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that or said what I said because I didn't mean it," he pleads, pecking various trails of wet kisses along Bucky's temple and hair to ease him and reduce the tears. They've let up but only slightly, and he's still trembling like they're in the middle of Brooklyn's winter.

"I'm an idiot. I'm so dumb. I'm so fucking stupid, Buck. I'm a sorry son of a bitch. God, baby,_ I'm sorry._ You don't have to forgive me or forget I said it, but I need you to know I'll be spending the rest of our lives making it up to you. Buck, _please_..."

The sincerity is deep in Steve's shaking voice when he too begins to cry a little. Despite every promise and vow they've made within their two months - or four - of dating, Steve's behavior is enough for Bucky to dump his ass and leave just like in all of Steve's nightmares. He very well could be with his client and build a happy home with him instead, and Steve would understand.

_Is he really that dumb?_

Relationship after relationship, Bucky's been let down and now he thinks he's found someone who can break the cycle of hurt and disappointment. And within a matter of seconds, he's achieved what Brock and Xavier took months or even years to do.

The blond avoids letting any of tears fall because it's not about him; truthfully, it's never been about him. It's been Bucky since day one. It literally took an hour of conversation in Steve's kitchen for this man to have him by the balls for life. Steve didn't bat an eye when ever yelling at Peggy, but when it comes to Bucky, everything's different. It's a different dynamic. Bucky's far too _precious_, too _pure_, too _everything_ to deal with anything, and without even trying, Steve's broken every promise and tarnished every sentiment he'd ever told this man.

Is he _any_ different from Brock? Xavier?

To be in the same category of those two gets him choked up in the throat, weary of whatever'll happen next, and shedding more tears. Will Bucky break up with him and kick him off his island? He has every right to and to be honest, Steve's ready to swim back to Brooklyn if it'll please him.

"_I'm sorry_," he's muttering into Bucky's hair, inhaling his scent to memory if he never gets the chance to do it again. "I'm sorry, baby boy. I didn't mean it. Never meant to h-h-hurt you. My whole world. _You_. _You're my world._ Fuck sketching. Fuck my bike. Fuck it all - it's _you_. It's _you_, baby... _I'm so sorry..._"

Each world spills out sporadically; Steve _can't_ stop rambling. He refuses to until he's worthy again.

"Stevie...?" Bucky calls to him, but Steve doesn't hear him over his own crying.

"'M sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry. I didn't mean it at fucking all. Any of it. It's okay if you don't believe me, but _I'm sorry._.."

"Baby," Bucky mumbles, planting an unexpected, open mouthed, moist kiss to the curve along Steve's reddening neck. "_Baby_..."

_It feels so good to be called that._ "Bucky, I'm sorry-"

"Shh, Stevie," he sniffles, lifting his head from Steve's neck and caging his head between metal and flesh hands with their foreheads pressed together, stuck with sweat. "Baby," he hiccups, and Steve moans in dread at how precious he sounds. "Stevie, open your eyes. L-look at me. _Please_?"

"_No_," he whines and instinctively squeezes his eyes shut tighter. "Bucky, baby, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

"I know you are. Just open your eyes."

Even though his voice is croaked and squeaky and he wants to keep crying into Steve, Bucky's the stronger of the two and wipes away the delicate tears streaming down his man's face while his own dry to his burning cheeks. "Look at me, Stevie."

_No. No; don't call me that. I don't deserve that._ "...Bucky."

"Steven Grant Rogers," he continues sternly but with caring intentions. Steve melts at it. "_Look at me_. Open those pretty, blue eyes I love so much and look at me."

He's hesitant, resistant, and more than unwilling to see Bucky see him this way when he's supposed to be strong. He's supposed to be the dominant - the one who doesn't lapse into crying fits about losing his baby boy after being so damn mean to him. The one who owns up to his mistakes and coaxes Bucky with apologies and promises to never treat him like this again. He won't... _He won't... I promise I won't..._

Steve needs to be strong in the face of confrontation, and he is. He _can't_ bear to have Bucky look at him how he knows he is - huge, wandering eyes and a sympathetic, sideways smile to make him feel better - when he _doesn't deserve it_. Not after what he'd just did.

"Baby boy-"

"Shh, Stevie. Don't say anything. Just open those eyes for me."

"I _can't_. What I just said..."

"Baby, please open your eyes. You're having an anxiety attack. I need you to just focus on me. Open your eyes."

It hadn't hit him that he was deep in a panicky trance till Bucky announced it. At the horror of Bucky seeing him in this state, he cries harder and attempts to pull away to make a run for it, yet the metal arm doesn't allow it when it latches onto the side of Steve's waist while the flesh one keeps them connected at the face with a bruising kiss intended to distract Steve. The taste of Bucky's tongue is all he wants, but he keeps trying to reject it with a mild fight till Bucky moans and locks him in place with both arms around his neck. He responds to the kiss when Bucky eggs it on with shrill whines and silent pleads.

"Look at me. Hey, _shhhh_," Bucky whispers between them, swaying them to and fro, and catching every tear that falls from his eyes. "Babe, Stevie, look at me. Baby boy needs to see those eyes that made me fall so deep in love with you. Open them._ For me_?" His pleading is calculated and collected unlike Steve's. It's precise and calming, almost like Bucky'd been planning and practicing in the event that Steve experienced another anxiety attack in his presence. The last one was sprung on him so spontaneously and scared him so much that he most likely made sure to know how to help Steve for next time.

And he's doing a credible job.

"I c-can't-"

"Shh, babe, you can. Just calm down. Take slow breaths and open your eyes so I know you're still with me."

_No. Don't do that. Don't take care of me like I didn't just say what I said to you..._

"Bucky," he weeps, wiping his face into Bucky's shoulder when the man allows him to move. "Baby, _please_ don't tell me to leave. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to yell at you like that. Don't make me leave. Don't leave me when I'm so sorry - _when I need you so much._"

"_Shhh_." Bucky sniffles back the rest of his tears. "Just _relax_. Breathe for me."

He's only seen Steve in such pain when he cried about Peggy on one of their first nights together - if this sorta thing has happened twice now, Bucky feels more than obliged to call her up and demand _what'd you do to my baby boy to make him hurt so fucking much?_

Bucky'd rarely thinks to refer to Steve like _that_. Yeah, _he's_ the official baby boy of the dynamic, but in all actuality, especially at times when Steve's losing himself like now and when he'll cry to himself when he thinks Bucky's fast asleep, Bucky has the urge to say things like_ it's okay, baby boy_ or _baby boy, please don't cry._

Although Bucky's the younger of the two and fits the role of a power bottom to a tee, he's also a parent meaning he's equipped and ready to baby the fuck out of Steve if necessary since he does it on the daily with Mischka anyway.

Just like Mischka, Steve is Bucky's baby. No ifs, ands, or buts. He can dominate the hell out of Bucky all he wants, but the second they're their normal selves again, Steve is Bucky's bratty, adorable, innocent golden retriever puppy that he protects and cares for better than himself. Steve's his baby, his man, his poison, his antidote, his kryptonite. More than anything else, Steve's his absolute best friend.

It's safe to assume it goes both ways. It's entirely impossible to be so in love with one motherfucker without being a friend, a caretaker, a brother.

And brother _isn't_ in the sense that Steve and Bucky are related - because that would make Bucky throw up in his mouth if by coincidence he and Steve were actually of the same blood - but more so that they're partners who stand as each other's backbone, even without the romantic aspect of their relationship. Even from the start, they were always more than friends, but if by trick chance they weren't to be together anymore, Bucky could fulfill the role of Steve's best friend and vice verse. They listen to one another, take care of each other, and protect the other like they would their military brothers.

They're attached at the soul. One can't go where the other doesn't and feel okay. It's not in their nature or demeanor to be away even for a day. If Bucky were deciding to move back to Russia tomorrow, a tiny voice in Steve's head would tell his crazy ass to stay or else they'll need to start searching for townhouses in Russia for a family of three and a pet.

Steve obeys Bucky's orders of making his breathing even with minimal struggle and a few whines. "_Please_, Bucky, _kiss me again_."

Doing as he told because Steve's gonna starve without it, Bucky keeps massaging their lips together gingerly and lovingly then wrapping his arms safely around Steve's narrow waist so he can't wander off.

"Bucky, I'm sorry..." He snarls though the kiss and grits his teeth when his tears leak with Bucky's as they descend down their faces. "Can't lose you. _You're_ my whole world. My fucking everything... I'm so sorry I treated you like them. I-I-I didn't mean it..."

Bucky surges forward and kisses him in between each fragment.

He knows Steve didn't mean what he'd said - he wouldn't've said such a thing if not provoked - but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less that he did or make it right. He also knows Steve didn't have the mind to raise his voice unless he felt attacked because even when the man is fired up and running on fumes, he never yells, screams, or shouts at Bucky or anybody for that matter.

In between coaxing the man back to mental stability and keeping himself together, Bucky actively ignores that for the split second Steve was yelling at him, he turned back into a little boy being abused by Xavier; Maybe yelling isn't the equivalent to his psychotic stepfather slapping him in the face with a belt then screeching obscenities at him for prematurely coming on himself when he had direct orders to let Xavier work it out of him, but it made him feel the same way it did when Bucky hid under his bed that night, crying and wondering why someone he loved so much was treating him like that.

"You yelled at me," Bucky whispers for a last time as an afterthought and Steve shudders out a broken "_I'm sorry,_ baby boy."

He pretends that Steve yelling at him wasn't the most petrifying thing a significant other has done to him since Brock held a knife to Bucky's throat and forced him to give him head if he valued his life. The difference between them and Steve is that he doesn't try and talk his way out. Xavier and Brock would halfheartedly apologize and think a gift could make up for it. Steve didn't run like they did. He stayed and held Bucky just how he needed to be held.

He didn't do it _just because_. It was a bad reaction disguised as a defense mechanism to a sensitive topic.

Bucky knows Steve is kicking himself. He's aware Steve hates himself right now because he ultimately knows even though it's never been said aloud, Steve loves the fuck out of him and when Steve loves, he loves _hard_. The brunet already forgives him aside the pain. The real struggle is Steve forgiving himself.

"You wanna go inside?" Bucky offers, nodding to the mansion. With a lump in his throat as he gulps, Steve finally lets his eye lids part and let the sunshine-esque glow of Bucky's forgiving face in.

"Can we, please?"

In between his haze and the tears, Steve takes in bits and pieces of Bucky swooping him off his feet and carrying him back to the house and up to their room. He remembers his body bouncing on the mattress and begging Bucky to keep kissing him so he won't explode.

Not before long, they're weeping in each other's arms till they lapse into naps and momentarily forget the day's plans.

* * *

Going into town and onto the mainland temporarily distracted Steve and Bucky from that morning's dramatics. It's all fake smiles and nonchalant conversation between them on the boat ride over, but ultimately it was a little awkward since they didn't discuss what was said or Bucky's confession. Wade, Becca, and Mischka didn't pickup on any negative vibes and if they did, they kept it to themselves. However, Becca did find it painfully abnormal that during the whole boat ride they were distant and resistant to touching when it usually takes an entire army for them to keep their hands to themselves.

Upon reaching the mainland, Steve finally did take Bucky by the glove-less hand and kept it close to his chest, placing dainty kisses on his knuckles, but never meeting his eyes directly as they stroll and sight see through the busy Bahamian streets. Mischka skips ahead of them, as oblivious as usual, stopping every few blocks to taste a food sample from a native barbecuing outside their restaurant or pick a flower from random patches of grass on the sidewalk. Fortunate for Bucky, she's easily entertained by just about everything from the music playing in the streets and gift shops with souvenirs in the window so she doesn't catch the despondent look on his face. Of course, he'll smile in her face when she looks back at the adults, but sure enough it dies when she's distracted again. If Mischka saw him that way, she'd never quit her worrying and there's no reason for her vacation to be ruined too.

Well, his vacation isn't particularly _ruined_ \- it's a pitiful shame that it only took _a fucking day_ out of the fourteen they'll be here for one of them to fuck it up. It couldn't been worse, right?

So, _no_, it's _not_ ruined. There's still time to salvage it, but he fears it'll take longer than necessary for them to patch back up and enjoy themselves again.

He lets Steve kiss along his hand and a thing of a smile appears on his face. Without even thinking about it, he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and plucks a tropical flower from the grass patches and places it behind Steve's ear.

The blond grins fondly at him for only a second before looking straight ahead again and pulling him along.

No, it's _not_ ruined.

We just need to talk it out, and they'll be fine. "You okay?" Bucky asks, resting his head onto Steve's broad shoulder and eyeing up at him with wandering eyes.

"Yeah," his boyfriend sighs, watching Mischka. "I'm fine. You?"

The shortness of his response twists like a knife in Bucky's side. It's dismissive and unclear because Steve claims to be okay, but the concentrated glare in his eyes and frown of his eyebrows tells Bucky otherwise. He fucking hates when Steve does this.

It's just that this isn't Steve. This isn't them. This was never their dynamic.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

And truly, he's not.

* * *

It was a heated August afternoon in Brooklyn when Bucky first saw Steve.

His thoughts prior to seeing him were ones of frustration and mild annoyance because the car salesman he'd been bargaining with for a nice, used, pick-up truck sold it off without consultation, prompting him to keep the move-in truck longer than he was willing to pay for. And God bless Clint for letting him constantly borrow his car because he and Mischka's move back to Brooklyn wouldn't've been possible without his help.

"Hey, Bucky, where'r'm I putting these?" Clint asked in reference to the box of Star Wars figurines and merchandise, pointing at the stuff like it offended him. Bucky glanced at the box then to Clint in thought and sighed. He didn't realize how much shit he owned until realizing he had to put all of it somewhere when he and his daughter first moved into Clint's townhouse.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Bucky groaned and waved his hand towards the apartment building. "Put it on the sofa or something. I'll figure it out, man."

It was in the midst of helping Clint haul the heavy box off the truck that Bucky's line of sight wandered farther than needed and he dropped his end of the box like a sack of potatoes and sent Clint dropping to the ground along with his prized possessions who made aggravated clinking sounds as they rattled in the box from impact.

"What the hell, Bucky? Why'd you-" Clint started in disbelief, but shuts his mouth when his best friend ducks back into the truck, moving as slick as a snake and maybe even faster.

"What're you doing?" He asked, peaking inside the back of the truck while Bucky poked his head outward and passed Clint at the opposite side of the street.

Bucky'd _never_ seen _anyone_ so _beautiful_ before.

The person of interest that Bucky had his eyes glued to was an estimated six foot two, brick house blond wearing a brown leather jacket and jeans that did his ass every bit of justice. Other elements of his physique that sucked the breath out of Bucky's lungs were his broad shoulders, thick neck, and regal sized hands that tugged sharply at the leash they were holding. The dog hadn't even caught Bucky's attention until the man stopped at a cross walk directly across from the truck and scanned the area.

Then he saw_ his face._

Time slowed.

Everyone that wasn't _him_ blurred. Every noise that wasn't _his_ fizzled out. It was tunnel vision to the highest degree; Bucky couldn't see or hear anything aside from this man.

His body couldn't mean a hill of beans in comparison because yeah, Bucky'd _never_ seen such art that is this guy's strong jaw, puffed out, smirking lips, bedroom eyes, and rosy cheeks before.

How does such precious demeanor on such a masculine face fit?

By the grace of whoever, the man looked in the general direction of the truck but shyly, Bucky hid further into the vehicle so not to be seen. It was a foolish move, but there was a flutter in Bucky's lower stomach and a thump in his chest that could only be his erratic heart going into overdrive at the possibility of this flawless human being _sparing_ a glance.

"If you're doing what I think you're doing, you really need to get it together and quit being a fifteen year old girl," Clint was teasing him, but it doesn't register. Nothing does really. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before.

Aside from his daughter, never in his twenty-eight years has he ever seen someone and instantly fallen _this_ deep into a pit of fascination without even having a single conversation. He's never laid eyes on anyone so - _ugh, what's the fucking word_? Whatever it is, that's what _this_ guy was. Perfect? _Untouchable_? A god?

How is it possible for someone to be so fucking exquisitely gorgeous and manly, yet so gentle looking at the same time? Bucky's not the best judge of character, but there was an essence attached to this guy that was telling Bucky he probably likes to make love instead of fuck. Just by looking at him, Bucky could tell he likes to cook, read, and judging by his body, exercise on the daily. Maybe he enjoyed music and was a good dancer?

Those were all just guesses. The one thing he knew for damn sure was that he's straight as an arrow. He's far too handsome to be interested in someone like Bucky which is pretty cruel and unfair because no one can be that attractive and limit himself to one gender?

"_Wow_," Bucky gasped, running a hand through his hair and resting it on his chin. "_Wow_."

"What're you looking at? _Oh_..." Clint hummed, balancing the box on his hip and smirking back and forth between Bucky's longing gaze and the man it's directed towards. "I figured _this_ might happen sooner or later."

"Whaddyou mean?" Bucky questioned, only looking away for a second then back at the blond. His face practically glowed with the amount of sunshine emitting onto him. The man had what is to be probably an angel's face, but a body made for nothing but sin. It intrigued Bucky; it _aroused_ him. A gentle giant is what this man probably was - how is it at all fair for someone to look like _that_?

"You know him?"

"Not really. I mean, I met him last week. He and Mischka were having a talk about dogs and ballet or something."

"Mischka? Why was he talking to Mischka?"

"They accidentally ran into each other."

That's reasonably hard to believe considering the guy's the size of a fucking eighteen-wheeler and impossible to miss.

Then again, Mischka's a pretty focused girl. Once she's in an element, it's hard taking her out.

"That's the dude she was telling you about, actually," he continued, tapping Bucky's metal shoulder playfully. When was this? He'd certainly remember someone like him. "Looks like you're paying attention now."

The man in all his beauty waited patiently for the light at the crosswalk to turn and in that time before it did, Bucky stared hard as hell, remembering every detail he could make out just in case they don't see each other again. They wouldn't, right? Winnie used to tell Bucky that you're not supposed to see someone in New York twice unless you're meant to.

"What's his name?" Bucky mumbled, leaning against the truck, committing his new love to memory.

"Ugh, Rogers, I think? Steve Rogers."

"If that ain't the whitest name if I ever heard one," Bucky snickered, analyzing Steve closely. The light turns and the bustle of people surrounding him cross to the other side before he does. His pet trotted forward excitedly, and before he knew it, the god-like man was out of sight having disappeared with the busy streets of Brooklyn.

"Yeah, 'cus James Barnes has soul to it."

Once Bucky couldn't track him anymore, he sighed in defeat and cursed himself. He should've said 'hi,' or something, right? _Hey, I'm the dad of that little ballerina you ran into that one time! Nice to meet ya!_

Yeah, _right_.

With a shrug, Bucky reluctantly turned back to Clint with a snippy comeback.

"Oh, how funny, Clinton Barton."

"Okay, fine," he snickered, handing Bucky a box with his free hand. "We're all just a bunch a white guys with white guy names. See, look?! He's gone. Now get moving if you wanna get all yer shit in before dark."

At first, it was like God was playing a mean trick on Bucky in making such a flawless human being and flaunting him off in the Brooklyn streets like it were nothing then having him disappear never to be seen by Bucky again.

Or he'd thought.

What Clint elected to not tell Bucky was that the gorgeous fucker lived in the same building he'd just moved in.

Right across the hall actually.

Which is why Steve's is the first door he unknowingly knocks on in a fury that day he swore on everything he'd lost his child. His mind had been racing, and regrettably he lit a cigarette that he burned through in about thirty seconds before going on a rampage through his apartment that the day before he, Mischka, Clint, and the rest of the Commandos spent the day unpacking.

He'll admit to crying a little.

"Literally how in the fuck have you only been here a damn week and lose your kid already?" he mumbled to himself and barged for apartment 114. After knocking as loud as his metal arm allowed, he tucked it behind him to remain hidden. He's putting together his explanation and bearing up a tough face to endure his neighbor that'll probably yell straight in his face for knocking like that.

But what Bucky _hadn't_ prepared for was that angel walking his dog on street the other day to open and give him an inquisitive, possibly starstruck glare. His brain and all the voices within it come to a standstill while the rest of his body turns to jello in the face of such perfection.

"_Shit_," the man muttered quietly, but Bucky ignored it because as fine as he was, Mischka is still nowhere to be found.

"Hey, um, hi." Bucky winces at the croaked sound of his voice from the cigarette he all but shoved in his mouth. He cleared his throat. "Um, _please don't_ call child protective services on me, but I lost my daughter."

He'd planned to go into depth on this, but words are typically limited in the face of angels. It sounded fucking ridiculous, and he only realized it sounded ridiculous when the man just stared at him like he'd grown another head.

"She's a little girl. She's six. Green eyes. Brown hair. Looks like she could probably strike you dead with one glare," he elaborated, holding up six fingers, pointing to his eyes then rolling them fondly at how evil she can look when she tries. "Self acclaimed ballerina."

The second of silence and thought between them passed quickly before Steve gave him a suggestive once-over that left Bucky red and said, "_Oh. _You're Mischka's father. James."

He appeared a little too happy to know that, but a wave of relief washed over Bucky that the man knew at least that much. "Yeah, um, I saw her and your buddy, Clint, leave for some audition bout an hour ago."

Bucky'd never felt as foolish as he did at that moment. Photographic memory finally did him some a solid and it was in that second, did he remember he'd written on a sticky note some time ago that the kid had an audition to get to. He remembered not being able to take her because well, work might've opposed, and it's rather inappropriate to leave his baby girl's dance audition to suck a cock for three hundred dollars.

Without meaning to, he had sighed and smiled, leaning back onto the threshold and covering his face from embarrassment. Not only is he Brooklyn's worst parent, now this guy knows it too.

"Right, right, right," he was mumbling to himself. "Ugh, I fell asleep a while ago and completely forgot. Jeez, man, thank you. Guess I tore apart my apartment for nothing." To ease himself, Bucky laughed and shook his head. _Smooth, Barnes_.

To feel less like an idiot, Bucky put on his freshest smirk and offered his right hand to Steve who nonchalantly leaned on his doorway, about an inch closer to Bucky. That made his heart rate pick up, but he still managed out a confident "James Barnes."

Steve extended a hand and granted Bucky a smile as wide as Texas and brighter than any sun or star in the galaxy. "Steve Rogers."

The second their hands made contact, Bucky's head swam again. Colors, sights, sounds, and smells flourished in that brain of his and they all seemed directed right at Steve.

_How can hands be so soft?_

"Um, yeah, me and my daughter just moved in a while ago. 116."

"Oh, did you?"

With a nod and a gust of confidence, Bucky playfully said, "So, _you're_ the famous Steve Rogers?"

"Excuse me?"

"Mischka hasn't shut up about a 'Steve Rogers' since we moved in. It's nice to put a name to a face."

_A particularly fine ass face at that._ No way this man is real. He does _not_ exist. No one is _that _pretty, and no one's eyes are _that_ entrancing, _that_ blue, or _that _deep.

There's a story behind those eyes.

He was a blink or two from getting lost as all fuck in the sea of his irises before Steve piped in with a polite "Do you wanna come in? I could make you some coffee? Tea?" that had Bucky questioning everything.

Is that code for something?

The innocent nature of the question is what set him off. There's no way in this day in age in Brooklyn do motherfuckers just casually invite strangers into their home for tea... Do they? Bucky hadn't been here a while, but he can't recall New York being so friendly without an element of reciprocity.

His job is enough to remind him of that.

But sure enough, this big, blonde fucker was still smiling at Bucky in the most genuine way possible, making Bucky's insides pool with butterflies and such. Even with a hint of doubt, the kindred sparkle in Steve's unreal eyes hypnotized Bucky. Although this guy was probably straight, Bucky didn't mind playing a game.

"Would you count it as our first date?" He asked cheekily, stepping forward and the second he was in Steve's atmosphere, taking in his world, inhaling the cologne that matched his own, Bucky was absolutely certain he was fucked.

There was a comfort about Steve Rogers's apartment.

A comfort Bucky could drown in - hoped to drown in.

Way under his breath, Bucky hissed out, "Jesus, no," and forced his brain to not pay attention to the fuzzy, warm euphoria bloomed within the pit of his stomach at the energy reading off of the apartment. He swore he hadn't noticed how Steve's apartment resembled a cottage in the woods and Steve himself was the king of all lumberjacks, smelling of musk and being just as husky as any real man would be. The cozy environment flushed Bucky in senses unknown to even him and for some reason, he pictures himself sleeping on Steve's couch and sitting at Steve's desk, nonchalant like that's normal.

An aroma of family and positivity lingered, but like any regular human being, everyone had a secret. Demons. Struggles. An underlying chill in the apartment relieved that much about Steve. As comfortable as Steve's apartment made him, Bucky detected an ambiance that lingered along the lines of solitary confinement, diligence, loneliness, boredom...

_Unhappiness_.

Bucky's read could've been wrong. None of that reflected on Steve, from what he could tell.

Or maybe he was hiding something.

One look at the man and no one would be able to tell he's so unhappy and dissatisfied with how comfortable he had grown to be cooped up here.

Even still, this guy had _something_.

He was _something_.

Why was Bucky so attracted to him?

It's deeper than the scent of his skin that made Bucky's eyes roll back or the way he smiled that set Bucky's face on fire.

It was his being. His essence.

He could choke a bear but play with its cubs right after. How's that possible in one human being?

How does one person exudes such dominance and humility, but remain so... So... So?

_Perfect_?

Bucky's brain would've probably began short circuiting if he stared too long at him - kinda like staring right at the sun or only knowing the dark for so long and getting a mere taste of light.

And it did disturb Bucky how well he was responding to Steve's presence without having had proper interaction. For more reasons unexplained nor expected, he refused to listen to the voice in the back of his mind telling him this is exactly where he supposed to be with exactly who he's supposed to be with.

He doesn't need this. He doesn't need love, or whatever the hell is happening in his mind, heart, and crotch right now.

There's never been an urge like this before. His body ached off the thought of Steve putting his hands on him. He wanted that, craved it - he'd never wanted to make love to anyone so _badly_ before.

That _scared_ him.

It scared him half to death that he somehow knew he'd be worth something alive if he were safe and whole in Steve's eyes.

He doesn't even know the guy, but...

_But..._

There was _something_ there.

A spark?

Bucky believes in fairy tale's, but that's too eery.

However it goes - whether they actually do what Bucky thought Steve was getting at or drink coffee - there's no way around Bucky immediately accepting that he trusts Steve for whatever reason.

It was pretty intense for just a crush.

Maybe it never was a crush. It was far too much for a silly crush.

Bucky's probably been in love with Steve since the day he laid eyes on him.

And he hasn't regretted it a day since.

* * *

Even after a full, tiring day of visiting shops and hiking around the mainland island, there's still an annoying buzzing in the back of Steve's mind that's forbidding him to tire or sleep. It's not the same as the night before where he only felt worthy to go to sleep if Bucky sang to him; it's daunting and very out of their element to do their nightly routine silently and void of any interaction.

This _isn't_ them.

Steve really fucked up, he knows that, and he refuses to end their day without attempting to fix what he'd done, anxiety attacks not included.

He's not sure how to. At least not with Bucky. They've never gotten into a fight of such severity before - Steve's never yelled at him like that or said anything so hurtful to anyone. Countless apologies are still due, but a band-aid doesn't work for a bullet hole. It's gonna take more than a round of "I'm sorry's" to mend what's happened.

As lost as he is on how to fix this, Steve doesn't neglect to watch Bucky closely while the man brushes his teeth at the sink, sad eyes cast downward to the water running from the faucet and swirling down the drain. If it were any other night, he'd be in Steve's face about brushing his gums pink and making fun of him for flossing when_ literally no one uses floss unless they need it, Stevie._

He can tell Bucky's just as deep in thought as he is by the concentrated way he's been refusing to meet Steve's glances and keeping to himself like they're unfriendly college roommates. How is it that they got this way over the coarse of one day?

The silence is too loud, but it remains that way until Steve strides back into the bathroom in just a towel and turns the knob on the shower. After the pipes squeak to life, the water gushes out at high speed and hits the ceramic tiles of the walk-in shower with rapid, hard thuds, creating an echo in the dome-like bathroom. Bucky rinses out his mouth,spits the excess suds into the sink, and washes them off the porcelain of the bowl a down the drown. He turns away from Steve and purposely swerves his head to avoid eye contact. His movements are slick but hurried, like he's in a rush to leave before Steve gets fully naked or says something.

It makes his heart ache.

_Make it right. Make it right. Say something to him, Rogers. Make this right._

Breaking the silence and sighing, Steve twists the knob and turns the water off with one hand and reaches for Bucky's metal one with the other. "_Hey_," he exhales, and Bucky hesitates with an unsure scowl before turning his body towards Steve and shying away, but accepting Steve's hand in his.

Dumbfounded in the face of such preciousness, he blurts out the first seemingly logical thing to pop into his head that would more than likely get Bucky back to his normal self.

"You wanna take a bath?"

The thumping within Bucky's palm indicates how fast his heart's picking up and racing at the suggestion. Have they ever taken a bath before? _Together_? One of them might've suggested it, since it's romantic and intimate - perfect opportunity for time to heal and talk things out while remaining more close and personal than any fuck session they've involved themselves in.

"A bath?" Bucky repeats, a grin growing casually on his face which warms the hell out of Steve's heart. "Like, together?"

"Y-yeah." Steve gestures to the huge tub at the other end of the bathroom and returns the smile with one of his own and a wiggle in his eyebrows. "Together. If you don't mind. Figured we had some things to discuss and we might as well get clean anyway. Two birds, one stone."

One can sense when the other's pulse quickens with excitement, and it's simultaneous when both of their breaths hitch at confronting the issue instead of beating around it. Bucky hadn't been expecting him to say anything after their time this morning while Steve's proud he even got it out.

"Ugh, yeah. Yeah, babe. Start the water and I'll get some towels," Bucky instructs him and retracts his hand from Steve's to head for the linen closet in the hallway.

In search of some soap under the sink, Steve discovers a clear bottle of scented bubble bath bubbles and salts that he pours an unnecessarily hefty amount of into the water so that the substance froths into overlapping suds and bubbles by the time Bucky returns with a couple of towels that he sets on the closed toilet seat.

"You found the bubbles. Cute," Bucky mutters under his breath and turns the faucet off when the water nearly overflows the edges. "Stark really outdid himself with making the arm waterproof," he continues bitterly and tugs at the ends of his shirt to remove it, but is abruptly stopped when Steve grunts assertively in the back of his throat and drops the towel, exposing himself and amazing Bucky who's cheeks are painted rosy at the sight of his boyfriend's free flowing penis.

"Let me," Steve demands, accosting Bucky with two strides and swatting his hands away to replace them with his own. Taking his sweet time and with precisely slow care, Steve pulls upward to strip Bucky out of his shirt and tosses it to the side. Awestruck by the gesture, Bucky goes doe eyed as usual with that bottom lip of his poked out, glistening with spit from licking it. Obediently, he stands perfectly still and allows himself to be undressed as Steve sinks to his knees to undo his belt, unbutton the button, and zip down his zipper, never looking away from the black in his eyes without a trace of grey left in his irises.

Steve barely even has to pull the flaps of Bucky's jeans away to notice his erection growing hard and resistant under the material of his black boxer briefs. Without warning, Steve hooks his fingers into the band of Bucky's underwear and yanks downward with more force than needed, jeans and undergarment in a pile around Bucky's ankles, penis flying upwards, right into Steve's face.

"_Ahh_," Bucky moas, unsure of Steve's intentions but not in a mindset to resisting if he wanted to carry out a physical apology. A good fuck is worth a million sorties.

And like the little shit he is, Steve brings his face forward in the way he would if he were to put Bucky in his mouth, but instead merely nuzzles the tip to the end of his nose, pulls away and then up to be eye level with Bucky who lets out a somber whine and glares Steve down.

"Steve-" he begins as though to explain, but Steve quiets him with just a shake of his head.

"C'mon," he encourages. "Let's take a bath."

There's no hesitation or resistance when Bucky follows Steve into the tub, immediately engulfed by bubbles, skin prickling from the heat of the water when he anchors his ass to the bottom. They shift around to get comfortable and surprisingly enough, the tub is big enough to do so. They even giggle a little when suds unintentionally stick to their face or hair. It's a minute after they've completely submerged themselves in the aroma of the bubbles and the heat of each other's skin in the steaming water before Bucky leans in to place a shy kiss on the space between Steve's nose and cheekbone.

He's got the floor first.

"I know you didn't mean what you said, by the way," he tells him, not missing how guilty and ashamed his man looks being reminded of what he's done. "I know you didn't mean to hurt my feelings."

"Just cus I didn't mean to doesn't mean I didn't."

Bucky sighs, kisses him again, and with his lips pressed to Steve's face, he murmurs "At least you admit when you're in the wrong. Most people have too much pride to do that much, let alone apologize."

"I _really_ didn't mean it," Steve parrots him, caressing Bucky's sides beneath the water, stare focused to his neck and beyond because if he looks straight at Bucky when saying this, he'll end up having another anxiety attack. "I'm so dumb because we know better than to say things we _don't_ mean when every day isn't guaranteed. Bucky, I don't know why I said that and-"

"I do." Bucky lifts his metal arm above the surface of a hill of suds to lift Steve's chin with his index to force eye contact. Steve quivers at how calm Bucky is when he was _so mean_ to him... _How was I that mean to him?_

Bucky's examining him with a nonjudgmental nature, reading him closer than he would any other time when they're having intimate conversations like this. Shyly, Steve blushes hard and lets the twist of Bucky's mouth into an understanding grin send flutters to his stomach. He really doesn't deserve Bucky looking at him the way he did when they'd first met.

"You didn't mean it," Bucky says genuinely with no signs of pain or sadness that was present before. "It was in the heat of passion and you were already angry, and I unknowingly fueled the fire with a triggering topic of which has caused anxiety attacks before. Am I right?"

More shame washes over Steve, and _fuck_, he needs to look away but he's completely hypnotized. "Yeah."

"And even though you didn't mean it, you subconsciously said it to hurt me," Bucky continues nonchalantly. "To defend yourself because you thought I was trying to hurt you, right?"

"Bucky, I'm sorry," Steve begins pathetically, eyes watering at his boyfriend's word choice._ You said it to hurt me._

And he's right.

In a rush, the wetness of Steve's eyes topple over and down his face, burning and stinging his eyeballs as they keep forming behind his eyelids.

"Shhh," Bucky croons, low in volume and comforting in tone as he slithers onto Steve's lap with the canvas of his tanning skin shining from water under the dim lights of the bathroom. "It's okay. Just listen. Let me finish," he instructs him patiently, wiping away the stray tears falling from the tips of Steve's mile long eyelashes with his already wet hands. "Stevie, trust me when I say I know you love me with all your heart. Right?"

Steve nods, unwilling to use his voice, because he might scream at how nice Bucky's being.

"Actions speak louder than words, pal. You don't just get on a plane and travel two hours away from your cozy Brooklyn apartment after nearly a decade of solitude 'cus you kinda, sorta, maybe have a bit of a crush on me," he teases, flashing all his teeth and nipping Steve's cheek playfully. "_Right_?"

The blond feels winded when he exhales, "yeah," and hangs his head again. This time, Bucky leaves it there and pecks the crown of Steve's head.

"You didn't say it because you meant it. You said it because you felt attacked and it was a pretty shitty defense mechanism," Bucky concludes with a shrug and a slight scoff. "And as badly as you reacted to it, I don't take back what I asked you. I'm so serious. She did _something_ to you, didn't she?"

Steve has no impulse or urge to yell this time. It's not possible to be so hateful towards such a simple question being asked by probably the greatest person ever. He shakes his head. He didn't need this conversation right now.

"I told you, Buck. She cheated on me and-"

"_No_," Bucky snaps sternly, switching positions off of Steve's lap to sit in front of him so they're still looking at each other, but less playful. "No," he says again and crosses his arms over his chest. "I refuse to believe you could say something so goddamn hurtful to someone you love so much and all she did was cheat on you. No. _No_. She did _something else_, didn't she?"

Steve refuses to answer. If he does, it'll bring back eight years worth of memories and pain that have been a struggle to stay hidden away. He cries harder, compelling Bucky's arms to safely encase him in a hold so sincere that it's rotting their teeth. With his head to Bucky's chest, he cries as immensely as he did when Peggy told him he was leaving him.

"She hurt you. She hurt my Stevie really badly, huh?"

His tears mix right into the water and suds in their descent down Bucky's torso. _Yeah, she did._

"Baby, it's okay to cry. I know it still hurts. Whatever it is,_ it's okay that it still hurts."_

Steve tangles himself in his baby's arms to get lost and avoid anything other than him. He's the only one he needs to see or hear at this time. Anything else would just be a distraction, and Steve can't lose this focus or else he'll be deep into the depth of an anxiety attack that'll be miserable for Bucky to comfort him through.

"I get it," Bucky's saying in the most sympathetic tone mustered. "I get that you can't tell me you love me yet, because you're still not over what she did. You're not over it because you're belligerent in letting anyone help you through it. Whatever she did had to be bad enough that you won't even let your best friend who's certified and government trained to deal with this in. If I'm wrong, correct me. But I'm _not_ wrong, am I?"

"Bucky," Steve sighs, ignoring the suds tingling the insides of his nostrils when he sniffles through his tears. "Baby, _please don't._"

"It's okay, love. It's okay." He leans forward and places Steve's head between his hands just like on the beach so they're face to face. "J-just let me in... Please? I won't use it against you. It's not healthy that you're harboring this. Just, please. _I love you._ I wanna help."

_I love you, too._ "I c-can't."

Even though Bucky's disappointed, he doesn't appear angry or impatient with Steve's refusal. Obviously, he's hurt because Steve is, but he won't let it show fully through the twinkle in his eyes or tight lipped smile on his face. "It's not 'cus you don't trust me, is it?"

"N-no," Steve stammers out, latching onto what he can of Bucky's so he won't tip over the edge of Earth with how unbalanced he feels. "I trust you. With my heart. With my _life_."

"Is it because you're embarrassed or you think I'll judge you?"

"No..." Steve thinks it over. "Yes. It's embarrassing, but I know you wouldn't j-judge me."

"But you _can't_ tell me?" Bucky clarifies, nuzzling their noses close.

"I'm _scared_," he admits feebly, trembling even though the water's still relatively hot. This is all it takes for him to fall apart and scatter into Bucky's hands in a bunch of tint pieces. He feels _so safe_ but _so stupid._ "I'm scared it'll drive you away. I'm scared you'll leave me."

This news shocks Bucky. He's physically taken aback and lets Steve's face go to put his hands back in the water, but Steve's movements are quick to pull them back up and place them back on him. It's a desperate 'don't let me go' that shimmers clear as day in the gloss of his pained eyes. Bucky keeps holding him, awestruck and unprepared for that answer.

"_Scare me away_?" He says incredulously. He can't believe what he's hearing. "No. _No_!" He exclaims. "No. _No_, Stevie. _No_. Baby, you gotta know there ain't shit in this world that could scare or take me away from you. I've dealt with men who like to whip my ass raw with a spiked riding crop and you think one little heartbreak is gonna scare me? Do ya not know me at all?" He chuckles, bending low and forward to see Steve at a different angle as well as keep his attention. "Don'tchu remember? _You're my baby._ Ain't _nothing_ gonna take me from you."

Those promises he'd made Thanksgiving night float idly in Steve's head.

_"...you're my boyfriend before you're my Sir or anything else. I'm always gonna be in your corner, and it shouldn't be where you feel like you can't come to me to comfort you instead of the other way..."_

"I'm ninety-nine percent sure that it could never happen, but there's still doubt and fear and a whole helluva bunch of other things that go through my mind when I think something I'll do will take you from me. I'm scared to fucking death of you not wanting or loving me anymore."

Bucky sympathizes and it's easy to tell this confession puts him at an edge. If this is how Steve feels, just how much confidence does he have in the relationship? In Bucky? Does he really believe that Bucky'll leave him?

It's not even psychological possible for Bucky to not want or love Steve anymore. It's second nature; it's been that way from the very start.

Unsure on where to take that, Bucky sighs and kisses Steve hard and wet on his mouth, lips enclosing around his to show how open he'll be. Steve moans weakly and eggs the kiss on with multiple catches of Bucky's tongue and lips between his teeth until Bucky places a hand to his chest and lightly pushes him back.

"It's okay that you're unwilling to tell me." The younger man bores his hypnotizing glare right through Steve's soul. "I'm not mad at that, but I kinda get why you're scared to tell me. I'm scared to tell you some things, too, believe it or not."

Bucky sighs heavily and shakes his head with a self-deprecating smirk and glances off for only a moment before directing himself back to Steve. "I'm not pressuring you to, but if I told you something about me, would that maybe help you trust me a little more with telling me?"

Steve blinks and sniffles. "Yeah."

Swallowing what might be pride and regret, Bucky clicks his tongue and sighs again just as dramatically then glares hard at the ceiling. "I never wanted to tell you this because I wanted to maintain the illusion that I'm some perfect, little boy," he halfway jokes, stroking warm water onto Steve's arms to reduce the goosebumps. "But, um, back in the day," he starts, slowly putting everything together as he remembers it before speaking. "I, like any other teenager, liked to drink. I was never much of a drinker in high school so much as I was when Natasha died," he confesses.

Steve's head shoots up.

"I was depressed as all hell when she was gone, and I turned to the bottle thinking it'd help me cope. I had this odd out for myself that if I drink enough, I'd either die of alcohol poisoning or for a few hours I could be drunk enough to not care or hopefully forget she was gone."

Steve gulps. He really should stop him. _"I know,"_ he wants to say, but he's finally getting the full truth from the source just as he'd always wanted so he stays silent and takes in Bucky's perspective on what Clint had told him.

Bucky scoffs but resumes smirking like he's remembering a fond memory. "It got _bad_," he says simply, shaking his head. "I didn't leave the house for months. Didn't bathe. Didn't make music. Barely ate. I woke up drunk on weekdays and spent all my money on alcohol. There was a point in which I got evicted and was homeless for a while and Clint and Laura took Mischka into their home. Before rehab, I got hella violent and ended up almost hurting Clint and some of the guys when they were only trying to help me.

"It, um, lasted for about nine months, my drinking problem. It _fucking sucked._ I didn't get help until CPS threatened to take baby girl away from me; I let Clint check me into a rehabilitation center for about three months. It was _hard_... It also fucking sucked 'cus I was thirsty the whole time." He flashes Steve a welcoming smile and hunches his shoulders like to say none of this was a big deal. "Ever since, I've been pretty sober. I have my moments and fuck-ups, but I know how to control myself by limiting myself to one or two beers a day versus the giant bottles of Jack I'd take to the head within a half hour."

He nods to himself and analyzes Steve for a reaction but keeps smiling to himself. "I was scared to tell you 'cus I didn't want you to see me differently. Thought if I'd told you, you'd freak on me and leave."

"That can't be any farther from the truth," Steve assures him, pecking his lips in delicate circles on Bucky's face and neck. "Thank you for trusting me with that. Thank you for telling me."

Bucky forces his lips to Steve's, latching them, breathing damp and hot against the other's face.

When Bucky pulls away to look into Steve's eyes, he's still smiling and giving Steve that famous puppy-dog state that soothes him like a lullaby and turns him on like a light switch. "You don't have to tell me any time soon. About Peggy or that you love me. There's no rush."

"That's not fair to you," Steve points out, easing himself lower into the water to warm himself further. Bucky straddles him again, cocks aligned together, but neither paying them any attention. "Not after what you just told me."

"It's okay," Bucky seems to say to the umpteenth time that day. "It's fine. Whenever _you're_ ready."

"I'm still_ so sorry,_ Buck," he whines, hiding within Bucky's arms again. _God, I love you so much._

"I know you didn't mean what you'd said, and I forgive you so please don't lose sleep over it."

"I plan on losing sleep some other way," Steve mentions suggestively, licking a stripe up Bucky's torso, causing him to shiver and gasp, remaining calm in the face, but his cock's twitching with interest. "You forgive me?"

"Yes, baby, I do."

"And you're _not_ seeing that client anymore?"

"No, I'm not."

Pleased, Steve nods and keeps kissing Bucky's moist, woodsy scented skin till the younger man lets a characteristic moan and whimper mix slip pass his lips and onto Steve's head.

Each little butterfly kiss to Bucky's body is an apology. A promise to never hurt him like this again. A promise to himself and to Bucky.

Bucky's lithe body slithers snakelike under the water to wrap himself smooth around Steve's frame so that when Steve stands and keeps him hoisted around his body, he won't worry about being dropped.

Steve'd never do that anyway.

Like a waterfall, water gathered between them rushes with a loud echo back into the tub when Steve blindly carries both of them out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

_"I'm so sorry, Bucky.._." He whispers sweetly, between hungry and impatient kisses to Bucky's neck, jaw, and lips. "Gonna treat you just right tonight."

"Sir, please," he whines, grinding desperate, full, nerve ending strokes along Steve's dick with his own. "Feels _good_..."

"Gonna rock you like the big ole' baby you are," he teases and cries out in ecstasy at how Bucky nips his cheeks and uses Steve's torso as leverage to keep fucking himself against his slippery upper body.

"Christ, I love you, Steve..."

Steve lays Bucky on his back out on the mattress and inspects the mess Bucky's already made of himself. How does he deserve a baby boy so beautiful? So good?

_I love you, too._


	20. 20

"One present."

"_No_, Mischka."

"Daddy, just _one_."

"Yeah, Daddy, just one," Steve parrots the child facetiously from his seat on the leather theater sectional, never looking up from his phone, sipping his hot chocolate and actively ignoring the unappreciative daggers Bucky's cutting his way.

"But why not?" Mischka persists as she follows Bucky, right on his heels, from one end of the room to the other. She climbs into the spot intended for Bucky on Steve's lap and crosses her arms over her chest while shooting that same glare he is. Bucky sighs heavily and retires to the seat adjacent to Steve since his is now occupied.

"'Cus what fun is having one less gift to open on Christmas morning?" Becca answers for him as she exits the basement's attached kitchen with a bowl of popcorn for her and Wade to share. "Didn't you already open some presents in Brooklyn?"

"Yeah, but I wanna open more now," she insists, telling them this like it's the most logical answer to a ridiculous question. Wade mutters something about being spoiled rotten under his breath as he snuggles up to Becca on their end of the sectional.

"Two more days, Mischka, and I promise you can open as many gifts as you want. Now, shh. Movie's starting." Bucky quiets her and points to the flat screen before them when Becca presses play on the _How The Grinch Stole Christmas _DVD main selection menu. It irritates Bucky to do so, but since his sister and daughter are present, he behaves and doesn't try any kinky business with Steve as they watch the film.

They're all, except Mischka, laughing like they'd never seen it before and quoting every other line while the young child watches in annoyance at the interruptions. Despite this, she enjoys what she can endure of the film before getting too scared of certain scenes (_"You're the...the..." "The... The... The GRINCH!"_) and racing out the room, demanding for Bucky to tuck her in for the night.

"You sure, sweetie?" He asks to be certain before lifting out of the safe socket of warmth between Steve's arm draped around him and into his torso. His whole body chills when they lose contact but it jitters back to life when Mischka nods frantically, avoiding the movie, and rushing them out the door by his metal hand.

On the way up the staircase from the basement to the second story, Bucky takes great notice of the jittery fashion in which she clings desperately around his hand and avoids looking up at him if he speaks. He knows her better than most, and he's not silent when he can tell she's shaken. "Movie too much?" He asks, stopping on a step to sweep her up into his arms, bringing them closer at the face so he can kiss her cheeks. It takes her a minute to respond, and when she does, she sounds hesitant and frightened which is uncharacteristic of her especially, but Bucky doesn't draw attention when he notices.

"Are you and Steve breaking up?"

That makes him stop at the top of the steps, analyzing her somber features and scrunching up his own eyebrows at the assumption. He'll admit that two days ago, he and his boyfriend were less than conspicuous - even if they thought they weren't - in hiding their emotions after that fight. He's stupid to believe his smart as a whip, observant daughter wouldn't catch on and question.

"No, baby. W-why do you ask?"

"I heard you guys crying a few nights ago. Is it 'cus a me? Did he hurt you, Daddy? _Please_, don't break up. I want Stevie to stay."

Bucky sighs to himself, carries his daughter into the living room to sit her down on one of the couches and kneels before her so that they're eye level. Natasha's crystal clear emerald eyes stare back at him, and it makes him exhale another time out of grief to think Nat's still gone then admiration to know she'd be proud if she could see her baby girl now.

"I want you to listen to me, alright?" He starts, placing the flesh hand on her knee and rubbing its cap soothingly to comfort her. "Just because you're in love with someone doesn't mean fighting and arguments aren't gonna happen," he says.

"They do, okay? It's normal for any relationship. None of it has a thing to do with _you_."

"B-but-"

"No buts. I mean it," he enforces, squeezing her knee and giving her a megawatt smile to match the facade he's putting up to avoid breaking down and crying all over again about what Steve'd said. "None of it is your fault. We're not breaking up anytime soon. Or _ever_."

Bucky hopes it sounds convincing enough to her because it doesn't sound that way to him even as the words are leaving his mouth. He and Steve's fight was pretty severe and any outsider would think that their demise would be soon. He hates that his own daughter had to be the outsider. And the fact that she thinks it's her fault only breaks Bucky's heart more.

Her expression remains the same, not really showing whether she's convinced or not, which conflicts Bucky, but he continues anyway.

"There are certain things you don't need to worry about at your age - like me and Stevie's relationship."

"Does that mean he did hurt you?" She asks, voice quivering on the verge of croaking down and just crying at the thought of it being true. Bucky can't lie, but if he tells her that Steve did mess up, would it reflect in her opinion on him? Would she see him as a monster because of how he was toward her dad?

Well, that wouldn't be fair.

Steve didn't deserve that. He knows he messed up, and it should stay between he and Bucky. There's no reason Mischka for her to be involved especially if she didn't have to be.

"Things happen, Nat." She knows he's serious when he calls her by her first name. "Relationships - whether romantic or just friends - aren't always gonna be sunshine and rainbows. Stevie and I are just like any couple or any of your friends' parents. Sometimes we fight. Sometimes we say things to hurt the other because we're hurt ourselves. It doesn't mean we don't love each other, and it damn sure don't mean we're breaking up."

Mischka lets a miniature smile expand on her face at that but, her eyes remain downcast like looking her father in the eye would be a dishonor. "So, Stevie's not leaving?"

"No," he assures more himself than her. "He's not going anywhere. And neither am I. Now quit pouting. A pretty girl like you ain't got a face fit to look so sad."

The child doesn't perk up immediately like he'd expect her to so with great pity, he rises from the crouch in front of her to grab a present labeled for her at random from under the tree. Upon handing it to her, he shrugs a shoulder and smiles delicately.

"Just one present. I think this one's from Steve," Bucky tells her, sitting beside her now to bring her into his chest as she tears off the wrapping paper. Any concerns for Bucky and Steve's drama dissipates when she lays eyes on the deluxe edition of the music group One Direction's latest album in her hands and squeals at the highest octave she can.

"Oh my gosh!" She exclaims and bounces on the couch cushion a while before Bucky sighs heavily a third time. The obsessive fan girl stage usually begins around six or seven and doesn't diminish until the late teens. Until then, he'll probably endure a lot of concerts, endless blaring music at night, and a whole lot of screaming. _Dammit, Steve._

"I didn't even know you liked One Direction," he admits, highly thrown off by how animated she is over a CD when not even a trip to the mall could get her this excited. "When did this happen?"

"Since forever, Daddy, duh! I've told you like a trillion times that Harry is my favorite."

Truthfully, Bucky can't recall such a declaration since he outgrew boy bands when N'Sync broke up when he was fifteen and crushed his entire world. "Right." He nods and inspects the album over her shoulder and attempts to match a name with a face when ultimately, it would've been beneficial to just listen when she raves about them. He lasted all of three minutes before announcing it's her bed time and regretfully allowing her to listen to the damn thing when she goes to sleep. Before he makes it all the way upstairs, he stops in his tracks and smirks a little at the gift similar to Mischka's for Steve hidden away in the closet.

He really hopes he likes it. If there's anything to help mend their relationship, it's _that_.

* * *

"I have to kill you now," Bucky announces, muffled and buried within the pillow, the second Steve enters their bedroom and begins to strip for a shower. The blond grins a little and hums to the One Direction song playing afloat the upper level from Mischka's room.

"Waiting till Christmas night wasn't gonna change that she loves One Direction," he points out and tosses his shirt on the bed.

"How'd you even know that?" Bucky rolls over, hands up to him in questioning.

"She talks about them all the time. Harry is her favorite. Niall's my new favorite since Zayn left," he explains cheekily, teasing Bucky which earns him an eye roll and a grimace considering he has no clue what he's talking about.

"Never thought I'd see the day that _you_ were more up to date on pop culture than _me_," Bucky chuckles with half of his face pressed into the pillow, eyes following Steve's every move as he undresses himself and traipses around the room half naked in search for the towel he used last night.

He's down to just his boxers when he shrugs in defeat at finding the towel and replying, "Well, it's impossible to not stay pretty current when got I've got a six year daughter keeping me informed."

At that statement, Steve stops moving and a full wave of crimson flushes his whole body while he stammers and cowers at Bucky's surprised eyes and whimsical grin.

"Well, _you_. _You've_ got a six year old daughter. Not _me_," he corrects himself with the quickness, completely unaware that Bucky's train of thought is anything but anger that the love of his life practically claims his daughter as his own. He lets Steve stammer and jumble over his own words for another minute before laughing aloud and rolling off the bed to wrap protective arms around his neck and force him in for a kiss.

"It's okay. I'm not mad," he reassures him sweetly, swaying them to and fro but never breaking eye contact. "It's kinda sweet."

"It's creepy."

"It'd be creepy if you _weren't_ my boyfriend of damn near five months," he adds on and kisses his lips softly this time. "But you are. And the fact that you bought it for her shows how a sweet guy you are - especially for listening to her ramble on and on about why Louis used to be her fave and why she switched to Harry."

A hearty laugh leaves Steve and shakes them both as they embrace one another with no plans to let go. For a moment, they're finding themselves getting lost in the pool of color of each others' irises. Bucky leans in and instead of kissing Steve again, he nips at his lips and stares up at him inquisitively like he's asking for permission. Steve grants him a peck to the tip of his nose.

_I love you,_ he wants to say. It'd make what he said to him all better; like it never even slipped his lips.

There's a clog in his throat at the idea of saying it though. Instead he kisses Bucky one more time before the younger man slyly pulls away and crosses to the other side of the room. Untangling his hands one finger at a time from Steve's, he slowly makes his way over to the dresser where his clothes are being kept, opens the top drawer, and digs for a second before pulling something wrapped in Christmas red wrapping paper out. Steve watches closely and curiously as Bucky stares down at the gift with drooped eyes and a hopeful smile along with an attitude so light it could guide Santa's sleigh.

It was nearing the end of August when Steve and Bucky went on their second date. It took Steve a month into their official relationship that the fucker genuinely considers their impromptu coffee meeting as their technical first date. Bucky and Steve remember it as one of the best nights of both their lives. Bucky more so than Steve since it triggered albums upon albums worthy of songs destined for Grammy's.

"I, ugh, want you to listen to this," Bucky suddenly announces, turning to Steve now and presenting the tiny gift to him bashfully. It's a thin, flat piece of packaging with a bow and everything, all holly and jolly awaiting to be opened.

"You got me One Direction's album, too?" Steve jokes, taking it from Bucky and inspecting its shape inquisitively.

"This might sound a little bit better."

Steve nods knowingly and although he begins to unwrap the gift, he adds on, "Don't want me to wait till Christmas?"

"Now's as good time as any," Bucky answers matter of fact, playing it as cool and nonchalant as he did when they first met even though his hearts about a thump away from bursting out his chest and his palms are slick with sweat. This is beyond personal; this is the first gift Bucky's given Steve that wasn't purchased with his hooker money.

He checks Steve's reaction carefully when the blond gets the gift open and displays an expression similar to Mischka's at the homemade mixtape CD in his hands.

"Bucky," he exhales lovingly, staring intently at the cover art: a dimly lit photo of them two cuddling, swallowed up in brown sheets in what's probably Bucky's bed with Bucky's arm stretched upward, taking the picture while Steve's drifted off, head buried deep in the crevices of Bucky's neck, being cradled by Bucky's metal arm. It's taken straight from Bucky's Instagram, and it's making Steve's heart swell at how happy he's made Bucky look in the picture when just some days ago, he was having him feel the exact opposite. Still in shock of his words from that morning, Steve shuts his eyes tight and glances hard up to a Bucky awaiting his reaction.

"I love it."

"You haven't even listened to it yet."

"I don't have to to know I love it."

Biting his lip, Bucky flips the CD around in Steve's hands to reveal the same picture on the back but with a track listing listed and numbered in white print. "The band and I recorded it in the studio at Gabe's," he tells him with a light and nervous chuckle. "Most of it are songs I wrote that you haven't heard before and others are just some of your favorites of ours."

Steve further inspects the CD, thoroughly impressed by the hard work Bucky and the other Commandos put into such an intimate gift. This is millions more worth that watch or jacket.

"Most of those songs are about you. _Us_, really," Bucky admits bashfully, easing towards his boyfriend with a head dipped low while he stares at the gift in Steve's head. He's nervous. "I'm not good with words most of the time, but I can play the fuck out of a guitar."

Steve finally glances up to Bucky's unsure demeanor and smiles as softly as he can to relax him. Bucky's turning red then pointing to the entrance to the living room.

"Can we have a listen?"

"C'mon." Steve obliges with his hand out for Bucky to take. Hand in hand, they walk into the living room and to the stereo where Bucky opens the casing, puts the CD in and presses play. Immediately, "Home" begins to play crisp, clear, and skillfully produced - given it's the studio version - over the speakers of the room.

"I'm fortunate enough to be the first man on Earth to have The Howling Commandos' first album," Steve quips in the middle of the song, taking Bucky's hand back into his for a twirl. Bucky lands clean and safe on his bare chest, merged comfortably between his beautiful front and the arm set against the small of his back, keeping him pressed to Steve.

"Years from now when you have millions of adoring fans, I can have the privilege to say I got your first album before anybody else. Thank you, Buck. I really love it."

This time around, their dancing was different. There's no rush or urge to rip each others clothes off; Steve and Bucky found contentment just being wrapped in each others arms, listening to Bucky amplified singing on the speakers about how much he loves Steve. Most of the songs are ballads, some are little fast paced; Steve loves all of them.

It's when they reach the eighth track that Bucky suddenly grows shy and stops their rhythmic sway and swing around the living room, alerting Steve and melting his heart when Bucky drifts away from an unexpected but reassuring kiss on the cheek. There's a lengthy acoustic guitar solo introducing the song, and there's an unexplained look of deep remorse on Bucky's face as he glances between Steve's perplexed expression and the stereo component as the song continues filling every quiet corner of the room.

"What?" Steve laughs, holding Bucky's hand but barely his attention when the guitar solo intensifies. "What is it?"

"I, ugh, forgot this song was on here," he admits nervously, trying to retrieve his hand back, but Steve's not allowing because he know if he does, he'll rush to skip the song. It's impossible for him to not hear it now that Bucky's brought it more attention than necessary.

"I'll skip it," he tries to say, but Steve's grip I him is too tight and too desperate to release him. An exasperated sound leaves Bucky upon remembering his boyfriend is stubborn as fuck, and it's too late to try and keep the song from him when he's already given it away as a gift.

When giving Gabe the track list to put on the disc way before Christmas, he purposely left this song out because he knows Steve and he knows these lyrics'll upset him and Bucky'll be in for a lecture of a lifetime...

That, and it's not even a Howling Commandos song. It's a track with just Bucky and his favorite guitar in Gabe's studio. There's no added hi-hats or drums or harmonies to make the song what it is - the lyrics were barely even finished when he recorded it. It's a demo not even worthy of Steve's ears at this moment.

It's also one of the most painful and intimate songs he's ever written or sang about anyone. None of the songs he's dedicated to Brock or Xavier even compare to the ones he's saved away for Steve.

"Ah, no, you're not. You're gonna tell me why you don't want me to listen," Steve resists, shaking Bucky's form teasingly, forcing a belligerent smile to Bucky's crestfallen face. "I like it. Has a very lumberjack,_ Brokeback Mountain_ feel to it."

That gets Bucky to snicker and his smile maintains for about a second till it falls toward the floor just like his eyes. Easily Steve can see he doesn't wanna look at him, so he respectfully allows it till Bucky's pert lips part to mumble out an explanation. "Wrote this a day or two after we became official," he tells the blond, grasping his body and keeping it glued to his own like an anchor keeping him leveled in the aftermath of his confession. Steve's silly smirk falls at the thought of what'd happened that night.

"Never intended for anyone especially you, to hear it."

"Why?"

A shrug isn't a sufficient answer for Steve so to avoid further questioning, Bucky reels in and embraces his man into a hug with his arms tucked under Steve's. The tiny squeeze he does against Steve's upper body is a nonverbal plea to be held tighter, so Steve gives him that and adds a peck to his crown for good measure.

"Kept thinking about what had happened the night before and all the lyrics just came out so negative. I knew if you heard the song you'd get all preachy and tell me about how I need to quit being so insecure in you loving me. 'Cus you do. You may not ever say it, but I know you do."

Steve frowns.

"I was still really scared, y'know? Scared of what happened with Ale- that guy who did that to me and that you'd leave and - " he huffs out a shaky exhale and lets his chin be lifted to stare into Steve's soul. "I was just afraid you'd leave before I got a real chance to prove I'm more than some whore."

"Buck-"

"I know," Bucky groans in redundant annoyance. "_Don't talk about yourself like that_," he scolds in a spot on impression of Steve, rolling those crystals for eyes dramatically when Steve grimaces at him. "Can we _please_ skip this song?"

His baby boy seems desperate enough for it, so Steve pities him and lets him go without a word. Bucky's rushing to change the song and the guitar is abruptly interrupted by a piano intro. Satisfied, Bucky slots back into Steve's arms and hums the lyrics to himself.

After a minute, Steve kisses his head again and whispers, "You never had to prove to me that you weren't 'some whore.' I knew all along. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"Yeah, right."

"Nah, babe, I'm serious. You focus so much on the things you don't like about yourself but you never focus on the positives. Like you're a badass musician, a great father, a beautiful singer and the best boyfriend any sonuva bitch could ask for."

"And the fact that I can suck a cock clean doesn't influence you saying any of this?"

"Bucky, I could go the rest of our lives without ever fucking you again and still feel as strongly for you as I do now," Steve says honestly, shrugging without even a blink because he means this with every fiber of his being. Bucky stares like he doesn't believe him for a moment, but eventually resigns back into Steve's arms safely.

"You mean that?" He asks.

"Yeah," Steve says into his hair that sits full on his shoulders now. "I do. You know I've always been interested in you in more ways than physically, Buck. You know your looks are just a bonus."

The sentiment warms Bucky's insides and melts away any inhibitions he'd previously had, along with encouraging the pool of tears forming behind his eyes when Steve holds him closer and tighter. As sweet as it is, he - and he knows Steve feels is as well - can't help thinking about the other morning. He nor Steve can truly be over it so soon. It's not possible.

And Steve knows this too well because just last night when Bucky thought he was asleep, Bucky'd woken up in tears and whimpers, crying towards the glass wall while his pillow got drenched. Ever so often, he'd mutter "_no_" or "_please_" as if he were speaking to Steve, begging this man to tell him he loves him back. Maybe he knew Steve was awake?_ Did he?_ Even if he did, Steve laid there right beside him, choking on a few sobs of his own at how much pain he'd caused him at how close he got to losing him after such a search to find him.

It's obvious that Steve'll never forgive himself for putting Bucky through that much pain, no matter how many times he'll be reassured that he's forgiven. It was when Bucky sobbed out a broken, croaked "I love you" last night did Steve officially hate himself and feel like an utter fool for not saying it then instead of letting Bucky go another day without hearing it.

_"You really think you're the first person I've been with who hasn't said it back?" _

Steve only now just begins to listen to the song playing, recognizes it immediately, and points to the speakers. "Is this that song you wrote back when we first started dating?" Otherwise informally known as Steve's anxiety lullaby.

"Yup."

"You finished it."

"Changed some lyrics, too. Not so much about giving yourself up for love anymore as it is about you and I being a couple of idiots in love who have no idea what they're doing and depend on each other way too much."

_"I take the worst of what you got...It hurts more than sticks and rocks...You know I'll be there...You know I'll be there..."_

If there's one thing Steve can appreciate about Bucky as an artist is that he keeps it entirely honest and truthful within his lyrics even if he can't say it in regular conversation. Steve nods knowingly, not even in the mood to argue that no, we don't depend on each other too much, Buck, when he knows it's a damn lie that they don't.

It's not a bad thing. But is it something to be proud of?

_"Cause I used to live in fear, it was my home...But there are harder things to be than all alone...You're the broken part of me that makes me whole...But so unsure..."_

Bucky sings along with himself and encourages Steve to join in by nudging him in the nose with his own. He does and for once, with no dirty intentions to follow, he and Bucky dance like gentlemen.

It's a secure feeling to know that even with the rift between them, Bucky still trusts Steve enough to hold and touch him like this. He knows Steve's not the monster he was that morning and allows himself to be engulfed in the guy's entire being like he never uttered a single hurtful thing to him.

Just the thought of it gets his tears revving up again, ready to spill over and drown them both.

_"Nothing is forever, nothing would be better...Than the love you're giving me. I just gotta have you... Wish I didn't have too. When you gonna set me free?"_

No amount of apologies and tears shed can make up for what he'd said. The only thing to make it better is if Steve said those three little words he yearns to hear more than anything.

That won't be happening any time soon.

Bucky knows that.

Steve knows Bucky knows that.

It surely doesn't stop Bucky from gulping aloud and whispering the world's saddest, "I love you, Stevie," into his neck then nuzzling spot he'd spoken into.

_"Like it or not, we were doomed from the start. I know that you'll agree...But nothing is forever, nothing would be better...Better than you and me..."_

Bucky can smile in his face and preach about moving on and being okay all he wants for the sake of making Steve feel better about his actions, but it doesn't mean a thing if Steve knows it's all an act.

Tears prickle at Bucky's eyes further and begin to leak over his bottom lashes and land like rain on Steve's chest. Of course he feels that, but pretends he doesn't and squeezes Bucky that much tighter.

Steve refuses to let Bucky feel him tense when he meekly replies with, "I'm sorry," and shakes his head in shame.

_"We don't turn around unless we're throwing stones..._And we're crawling like there's cracks all in our bones. You're the broken part of me that makes me whole...But so unsure..."

It's okay that they're _not_ okay.

It's okay that Bucky's still bruised as all fuck and trying his hardest to save himself from breaking the hell down in front of the main person who fucked him up the most. He does love Steve more than himself, so of course, he's attempting and failing to be okay so soon after such a heartbreak for his sake and not his own.

He knows Steve didn't mean it, but it doesn't make his chest un-clench any less with the pain of being freshly stabbed in the heart. It stings. It burns.

Yet, he wouldn't rather be held by anybody else.

It barely happened a day ago, so trying to fall back into their regular routine like Bucky's emotionally intact and Steve's the never wrong doing boyfriend is almost unrealistic and not possible.

So, why're they doing this? Why are they pretending they're not still in so much pain? It's _not_ normal. Or healthy. It's _wrong_, actually. It's a _lie_.

They're doing it because they're afraid.

Being deprived of real relationships for years trained them to be this way; so uncertain, standoffish, dishonest. Their mindsets are wired to think that the slightest inconvenience could tear them apart, and being alone scares them. All they wanna do is to let that morning go, but until they discuss it in its full entirety - including Bucky's side of the spectrum - and air everything out, Bucky'll be in pain, building resent, and they'll always be scared to talk their problems out.

Why is Bucky playing it cool and downplaying his feelings when his daughter asked him like she's got no rights to the truth about his well-being?

The younger man sniffles and keeps himself together until his face muscles can't any longer with staying scrunched up, keeping the tears at bay like a dam. Gusts of wind exit hastily through his mouth and nose when he gives up, resulting in a pain sobbed to be drowned out by the song, but taken in by Steve's ears.

Steve ignores his own tears falling down his face and doesn't let them blind him when he pulls away to keep petting him and kiss his hair, the edge of his hairline and the wet patches of his face.

"I apologize for hurting you. I apologize for yelling at you, and saying what I did," he pleads with a rushed hush, ridding Bucky's face of tears with two swipes of his thumbs even as his own cloud his vision, leaving Bucky as a blur of color. "I apologize for making you cry. I never meant to make you cry, baby boy."

Unsure of whether he's tired of hearing Steve's apology doesn't make him hurt any less. He still hurts. It still burned in the front of Bucky's brain that Steve'll never tell him that he loves him. Never.

Washed over with adoration and desperation, Steve surges forward and kisses the fucking hell out of Bucky's lips, sucking them in and moaning heavily when Bucky squeaks in surprise. How in the fuck is it possible to love someone so much yet hurt them so badly?

"I'm sorry. I-I-I'm sorry, baby," Steve's reciting over and over against Bucky's lips between frantic whines and uncoordinated smooches to his chin and lips. It's awkward, sticky and too moist for either of their liking; but Steve doesn't stop. "_Please_, I'm so sorry. I do. _You know I do._"

Bucky doesn't react how he wants to at the sound of his name. It's pained and strangled on its way out of Steve's mouth, and truthfully, he'd love to give in and hug his boyfriend right. He wants to just be taken back into his arms and hold him till all is forgiven.

He should - and he really wants to- cry some more, but instead he just wipes his face with the hem of his t-shirt and manages to keep everything in as best he can when he nonchalantly croaks, "I forgive you. 'M just gonna head to bed now."

"Bucky-"

"No, Steve, I swear 'm fine, alright?" Bucky insists with mediocre attempts to sound like his normal self. Obviously it doesn't work - he still sounds scared and looks just as traumatized.

It's right on the tip of Steve's tongue - _I love you. I love you. I really fucking love you_.

But it never comes out.

Maybe the reason why it hurts so much is because somewhere secretive in Bucky's heart, he knows that Steve was telling the truth that morning. They'll be married with a team of kids, a thriving comic book business empire, and a fuck load of Grammy's between them, but it'll _never_ come out.

Part of him hates Peggy. Another part hates a sliver of Steve. It must be displayed on his face because Steve's looking at Bucky like he'd stabbed him. Never once has he turned his back to Steve when leaving him, but this time he does. It's not out of disrespect but so he doesn't have to watch his boyfriend crumble at his expense.

* * *

The digital numbers on Steve's phone had read one in the morning when Bucky climbed out of the bed and disappeared into the living room. It's three now, and all Steve's been able to do is listen to Bucky sing low to himself and strum miscellaneous notes.

The chances of Steve falling and staying asleep is slim what with knowing Bucky's upset with him, and the nerve wracking idea that he's probably gonna break up with Steve when the trip is over is keeping him wide awake. Being without Bucky sends a melancholy chill down his spine even when the atmosphere is warm even at night.

Great thing Steve's on vacation; if he were back home and wide awake at three AM on a weekday, he'd be fucked for his work day.

At the thought of work, Steve decides to make most of being awake and grabs his iPad off of its charger on the dresser. He rolls back into bed, device in his lap and earbuds in as he answers work emails, sends out assignments along with deadlines, orders supplies, and other boring managerial duties all the while humming to his favorite relaxation playlist. He manages to get a good percentage of the work he'd have waiting for him back in Brooklyn done in an hour and doesn't even realize Bucky'd re-entered the room till a song on the playlist ended and he hears Bucky's footsteps padding across the floorboards.

Neither of them say anything, and Steve's feeling petty enough to just ignore him as strongly as Bucky is him; It's basically that day all over again which would be ideal since he really doesn't need a distraction as he writes out another _Bird Bros _storyline.

But Steve's not petty or shady. He's upset, but he's not so caught up in himself or his feelings that he allows Bucky to feel this way when he knows the younger man just wants him to make the first move.

They both know it's there; it's hanging in the air as to why they broke down on each other. It may not be explicitly said since they'd partially agreed to never mention it, but until they readdress the situation, they might be able to fix it.

What more is there to say, though?

All Bucky wants is the truth. _What'd Peggy do to him?_ In receiving the truth, Steve's better and able to right the wrong of saying what he did to Bucky.

Setting the iPad aside, Steve sits up against the headboard and exhales quietly. "Write anything good?"

Bucky removes his glove and sets it in one of the dresser drawers. "Not really. Can't write that well when I'm so tired."

"Well, getchur ass in bed," Steve invites suggestively, lifting the quilt beside him for Bucky to crawl in. Bucky smiles yet creeps forward slowly with slight hesitation.

"Ain't'cha doing work?"

Steve waves his hand dismissively at the iPad and beckons him further with a pat on the mattress "Don't worry 'bout that. Come to bed with your man."

"Yes, sir." He's smiling in what appears to be grateful remembrance that he's here on vacation with not just any man, but _his_ man.

Bucky wastes no time in removing his night shirt and pajamas pants to be in just boxers when he crawls cat-like with ever curve he possess protruding and moving with ease along the length of the king bed towards Steve. Without breaking eye contact, Steve kisses his forehead once he's close enough and tackles his body to be secured under his weight, dragging the blanket with him so they're hidden beneath the sheets.

"Hi," he whispers, stamping a kiss on his forehead again, both cheeks, his nose, and landing at his lips. All Steve tastes is cigarettes; he doesn't mind.

"Hi," Bucky repeats. "You're never this perky at three in the morning."

"What'm I usually like at three in the morning?"

"Dead to the world," Bucky chuckles, caressing his biceps and meeting each hand at the base of Steve's neck. "An absolute bump on a lug. Fireworks probably couldn't wake you up."

"Your man's been tired lately," he reminds him and doesn't miss the brightening in Bucky's eyes when he says "your man" again. "You know he's living an adult life now."

That gets him grimacing. "I still don't like your assistant."

"Babe, you don't like girls - _period_."

"_Correction_: I don't like girls _who like you._ Putting it like how you said it makes me seem like a misogynist asshole."

With a cocky grin, Steve then asks, "And why don't you like girls who like me?"

" 'Cus girls don't give a fuck. They'd do absolutely _anything_ to get you if they don't have you," he informs him bitterly. "I know this 'cus I've seen the shit first hand, and I'd be as ruthless to get someone like you if I ain't already have you."

"Jealous, are you?"

"Of your Tinkerbell wannabe assistant? _Hell no. _There's a difference between jealous and territorial. No reason to be jealous of her if I already got what she wants," Bucky explains almost informational and smirks.

"I still think you're just imagining things. Pretty sure she doesn't want me."

"And I'm pretty sure she can't keep your name out her mouth ever time I visit you. It's always_ 'oh, Steve is so cute,' _or_ 'Steve, is so talented, _orhere's my favorite: _'why is it that all the good guys are taken or gay?'_"

Bucky couldn't be more adorable as his face scrunches up in disgust. "She should be asking _'why do I want someone else's boyfriend so much when he has his very own at home?_'"

"Bucky."

"Thought I'd made it perfectly clear when I first met the girl that you. Are. Mine. _Mine_!" He's not even looking at Steve directly anymore when he begins to ramble on.

"Yes, I know, but _Bucky_-"

"Was us banging like a screen door during a hurricane in your office not a clear enough message for her to fucking-"

Neither are really sure what else Bucky had to say when Steve takes it upon himself to shut his boyfriend up by plastering sloppy kisses onto Bucky's neck, right on his sweet spot. Bucky's too caught up in letting himself be adored to let anything else other than Steve's kisses getting lower and drenching his neck with trails of saliva distract him.

"F-_fuck_..." he moans idly, scratching Steve's scalp with his left hand, metal plates sensors conducting on a mind of their own when they tug lightly on Steve's short hair to guide his lips just to where they need to be.

It feels too good to be real. It feels too good for him to be so sad and unsatisfied with where he and Steve are.

He doesn't complain, though.

What he does is reach over to the nightstand to grab his phone and open Snapchat because this is a moment worthy of his story. Even with all the movement, Steve doesn't get distracted from leaving a village of hickies and hungry kisses leading from behind Bucky's jaw to his collarbone.

Arm stretched upward with them both in the phone's shot, Bucky begins to record a few seconds of Steve loving on his neck. "Stevie," he slurs, strung out already, and nods upward to his phone when Steve unburies himself from his neck and looks at him with a predatory glare. Once Steve sees the camera, he smirks devilishly in a way that would make all of Bucky's friends either wet or hard and returns back to nipping on Bucky like he's a midnight snack.

Between the haze of ecstasy slowing washing over him, Bucky watches the playback of he and Steve, adds a filter, then publishes it to his story before tossing his phone somewhere - where it lands is the least of Bucky's cares - and offering wider spans of his neck, the back of his head digging deeper into the pillow under him.

"What app are you exposing me on now?" He asks gruffly, majorly occupied by the taste of Bucky and the sounds that follow.

"Sn-Snapchat," Bucky whines, creeping his hands beneath Steve's underwear and squeezing his ass between greedy fingers, causing Steve to wiggle upwards to align their cocks so each time one of them moves, they feel the other getting harder and harder. Persistent muffled sounds come out of Bucky and die out on Steve's neck before they can echo out into the room.

Involuntary, Steve's hips begin to rock forwards then back, dragging his dick with them and in doing so, exciting Bucky's and coaxing his hips to do the same motions at a similar pace.

"Oh, yeah?" Steve's lips travel hastily from his neck to his face and eventually separate over his lips so they can wrap each other's lips with the other. Tongues swirling around and heated breath being transferred between them, neither have the time nor patience to stop and talk about what they'd wanted to. Their movements are not so much animalistic as they are frantic - almost hurried like I'm sorry I hurt you. Let me make this up to you. That apologetic desperation is mutual - it's in Steve for what he did that morning and in Bucky for what he's been doing their entire relationship.

"Keep kissin' on my neck like this and I just might have to expose you on PornHub," he giggles, but Steve's mouth is too occupied to respond or laugh along.

About five hickies are bruised onto Bucky's neck alone before Steve mounts himself upward to tower him. They still meet in the middle with Steve encased in between Bucky's legs crossed behind his back, staring down at the tan canvas of skin that is the rest of Bucky's body that he could suck, bite, and mark up so fervently that the evidence wouldn't fade till New Years.

Bucky stares back up at the body above him, damn near drooling at the plots his mischievous little head is conducting to do when he's got the rare upper hand on his gigantic boyfriend. He shivers at the idea.

"You're so pretty," Steve comments, running his long, wandering fingers along the length of Bucky's wonderland of a body, leaving the minuscule hairs of his torso at attention in the wake of his touch. "One of these days, I'm gonna leave your entire fucking body in bite marks and hickies. Maybe even a few bruises from how hard I gotta hold you down since you like to squirm and try to get away from me."

A high pitched chorus of moans escape Bucky at the sensation of Steve touching him so gently while still maintaining to be assertive and in control of how he wants Bucky to be for him. His words are music to Bucky's ears, and he has no choice but to comply with Steve's offers with a minute shake of his head. "_Please._"

"You want that, don'tchu, baby boy? You want your body so marked up that you blush every time you get naked because all you can think about is my mouth all over you, worshiping you?"

Bucky meekly nods in agreement, bottom lip poked out and shining wet from spit. "Yes, sir."

"I don't think you got the patience to lay down long enough for me to eat you alive, huh?" he growls, dipping his body back down to ravish at Bucky's neck again. "Do you?"

"N-no, sir. Want it _now_."

"S'what the fuck I thought."

With each passing moment that Steve gnaws and marks up Bucky, the men grow harder and harder, making their actions nastier and dirtier. Without thinking to, Bucky's pulling down Steve's underwear, all nine inches of him plopping right over Bucky's own aching and resistant erection. Steve doesn't stop kissing him, but he cries out with strangled pleasure a husky groan from the back of his throat at Bucky jerking him smooth with full strokes from the tip of the slit to the base where his balls hang.

"I ain't give you permission to do that," he protests but doesn't stop his hips from pulling back and thrusting slowly into Bucky's fist. He's never gotten this type of attention from the metal arm before, but there's no true complaint to be made at the irresistible feeling of such a sensitive area being caressed by something so smooth.

"You seem to be liking it, sir," Bucky - that little shit - comments innocently with a smirk Steve wants to brutally fuck off of his face.

"You're asking to get punished." Steve groans sternly, finishing a stroke, then sneakily pulling Bucky's underwear off now, too, and snatching his hand away to have their cocks touching with full skin on skin contact.

"Shit," Bucky exhales, eyes drooped as he struggles to keep his head up to stare at their dicks atop the other and rubbing together so deliciously he just might come from the sight of it. "Sir, it feels so, ugh,_ so fucking good..._"

"Yeah, I know," the blond sighs blissfully, trying his damnedest to not break down and cry out at how fucking nice this feels for sake of appearances. "My baby boy likes all this attention, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"S'what I thought... Ugh, _fuck_, Bucky."

With his legs woven tight around Steve's waist and his hands pushing and pulling Steve's body in and out, the brunet encourages Steve to rock harder and faster against him, so he does and _fuck_, it feels far too glorious to stop to fucking prep him, let alone get inside of him. In between panting and whining at the sensation, Bucky's shifting between his Brooklyn accent and that farm boy one that reeks of virginal innocence.

"Fuuuuh-" he cries, barely able to finish the word. "Sir, it's_ so good..._"

"Not even in you yet and you're already moaning like some goddamn slut," he taunts him, biting his tongue to keep his own whorish sounds at bay.

To avoid coming, he slows down, licks a stripe of sweat from Bucky's neck and swallows like it's a drink. It's pretty hot to witness; he urges Steve on with his fingers squeezing and digging deeper into his waist, eyebrows rising in the middle out of confusion and impatience when Steve comes to a full stop. The man can't even get a word out before Bucky's mewling like brat and forcing himself upwards instead when Steve snickers and doesn't budge.

"Stevie, please keep going... Fuck, _siiiiiir_," he draws out the syllable, writhing under him with little victory when Steve topples him with his body weight all whiling grinning like a love struck idiot. "Babe, you're fucking heavy," he exhales breathlessly, still grinding in search for friction.

"Buck-"

"Please, don't tease me."

"Baby boy-" Steve growls, impatiently but still smiling.

"I'll actually cry if you fucking tease me."

"I'm not gonna tease you, but I'm planning on it if you don't shut the fuck up so I can say what the hell I wanna do to you," he threatens with a laugh, and after a minute of silence, Bucky breaks character and follows suit with giggling as well. The position they've put themselves in is pretty childish, but it feels far too good for either to care.

"Well then, tell me what the big, mean, ole' Sir wants to do to his baby boy." Bucky's grinning like the Cheshire Cat, exuding defiance and outright disobedience when he continues to worm under Steve in attempts to get their cocks rubbing against each other again. That expression he's sporting is so downright taunting - fucking brat - that Steve fights the urge to toss him on his stomach and spank his tail raw with no aftercare. However, Steve's not cruel, and he knows when he's being played so he doesn't let Bucky's smart ass attitude get to him. All this is is a weak facade to hide how fucking needy he really is.

A moment of thought passes before a set of teeth lunge and latch onto the crook of Bucky's neck, causing his whole body to jerk forward violently and eliciting a shocked yelp at how much it stings for his fresh bruises to be tampered with.

"Well, the big, mean, ole' Sir wants his baby boy to sit on his face and ride his tongue like a bitch in heat, screamin' so loud that the fucking natives can hear. But if that's too much for my baby boy-"

"No! No-o-o-o-o, _please_, sir!" He gasps, weak sounds of protest leaving his lips wearily but not so intensely that he actually wants Steve to stop. Sure, he's probably bleeding, but this is just how he needs to be. Hopeless, helpless, and entirely under Sir's control because no one knows what best for him but Sir. "I'll be good. Be so good and sit on your face. L-let you eat my ass out like a, ugh, _fuck_-"

"Like a what, baby? _Hmmm_? Say it."

"Like a bitch, sir," he finishes meekly, clinging urgently around Steve's neck like a sloth and refuses to let go when he lifts off the bed and topples them backwards to switch positions. Now that he's on top, Bucky straddles him and grinds helplessly against Steve's dick for a fraction of the friction he needs to begin howling out at the bliss of the act.

"You got five motherfuckin' seconds to get that ass on my face or you will not come until 2016," Steve threatens impatiently, forcing Bucky's hips to a stop with borderline painful pressure of dull fingernails into his sides. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"N-no," he cries out and makes feeble attempts to slide the few feet to align his ass with Steve's face. Before he can move, Steve slaps his ass violently and squeezes onto his sides a second time, eliciting a pained whine, head thrown back and completely exposed to Steve's hungry eyes. "No, sir," he corrects himself and re-positions his self to be hovering over Steve's awaiting open mouth. Before he has the mind to plop down and begin to ride him, Steve's huge arms wrap eagerly around his thighs, pulling his body down, and ravishing at Bucky's pretty, pink hole the same way he did his neck.

Unprepared, Bucky latches onto what he can - mainly Steve's wrists - to stabilize himself and has no choice but to begin to ride the living hell out of Steve's face when his tongue flicks and laps in his ass, stimulating that ring of muscles loose. It sends shocks right up his spine; it's a chill really considering his nipples are as hard and erect as his flailing cock bumping against Steve's forehead.

"Oh, fuck-" he squeaks, grounding his ass harder onto Steve's face, muffling any praise or comments the blond tries to get out. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ..."

As usual, there's no particular pattern in which Steve eats Bucky out. It's nothing either can plan for - if Steve's tongue happens to lick right then Bucky'll writhe through it willingly. Same if he plunges his tongue forward and teases his puckered asshole till all hell. That erratic tongue doesn't stop even as Bucky re-positions himself to be more comfortable and gain more mobility in his hips, sliding and bucking on Steve's face as if it were his dick. With every lick, the younger man wears down on his bottom lip, eyes fluttering in a struggle to stay open to experience watching his ass get eaten.

"Taste fuckin' good," Steve's grumbling under him, lapping and massaging what he can reach of Bucky's taut ass. Since hitting the gym, it's firmer and definitely bigger which neither have a problem with. He doesn't hesitate giving it a squeeze as Bucky rocks back and forth, legs quivering, dick leaking premature spurts of release right into his hair, but at the moment, he doesn't care about that.

"S-sir..._Ughhh_." He's on the brink of coming but he behaves and keeps riding Steve like his life depends on it. His moans and Steve's grunts fill the room and probably the hallway, but the house is too big for anyone to hear them. "Stevie, f-fuck," he's biting out, grasping at the sheets under them for purchase and probably tearing the fine thread count with how intense his grip is. It's downright unfair how Steve slurping and humming on his asshole could turn him to a sweaty babbling mess. Steve's eaten him out plenty of times, but never like _this_. His body's reaching levels of ecstasy unknown to his damn self. He's never been _this_ high. He's never felt anything _so good_ \- physically anyway.

"Goddammit," he quivers, probably suffocating Steve with the pressure of all his slack weight on his mouth and nose. "Sir. _Siiiiiiiir_..."

Steve mumbles something unheard or properly articulated, simultaneously slapping Bucky's ass and manually rocking his hips for him on his face.

"Ste-vie," he croaks helplessly. "Baby, it feels s-_so good..._"

A shriek frees itself from Bucky's throat when Steve uses two arms to grip him by the middle and fling him on his back in one tumbling motion. Before Bucky can think to laugh, he's bent in half with his knees to his ears and his gaping hole exposed.

"Pretty," Steve comments gruffly then licks a clean stripe from the crack to his hole and back before gathering a healthy amount of saliva and spitting it right at Bucky's entrance. The sight gets his dick wobbling about and straining against the tiny pool of pre-come seeping into his belly button.

From between his baby boy's legs, Steve keeps up that evil grin and uses his wandering fingers to rub his spit around Bucky's asshole, teasing its perimeter but never plunging in, making Bucky wiggle and plead. It's hot, tingling - so ready and excepting of whatever Steve wants to put into it.

Steve's own cock is throbbing and twitching diligently with interest. "You like when Sir gets nasty?"

"Fucking y-yes..."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"You think you're ready, baby?"

It's scary how desperate and beyond ready Bucky is to get split in two. His rapid nods indicate so, so Steve has no choice but to oblige.

"Use your words like a big boy," he reminds him anyway as he creeps over the edge of the bed to retrieve his suitcase.

Exhausted already, Bucky huffs out a bothered sigh and nods again. "Yes, sir. Ready to take it..."

He digs through the front pocket, feeling for the very tiny bottle of lube - fucking TSA is picky about certain things - and a condom from the row its attached to. Once getting both, he tosses the supplies on the bed and immediately pops the bottle open to spread a generous amount in Bucky's rear and directly over his hole.

"Gotta get you all nice and wet so we won't hurt you," Steve explains as if Bucky didn't know the use for lube. He would've snickered, but the tone and glare his man's using don't really call for a comedic response. "Get you wet and slick for me so I can just-" he pauses and nonchalantly pushes his middle finger smooth into Bucky and that part of him accepts him willingly with a gasp.

"Oh, yes, s-sir."

"Look how loose just eating that pretty ass makes it... So open and so ready. You're ready, huh, Buck?"

It's a rhetorical question but Bucky sobs out "Yes, sir," anyway and witnesses with horrified pleasure how dirty he looks with his body bent halfway and a finger lodged inside deep enough to work him like puppet.

"Good boy," he purrs. "Good kitten."

With a growl in the back of his throat, Steve rips open the condom wrapper, discards it to the side, and reaches between his legs to begin rolling the latex down his length. Deliberately taking time to make Bucky suffer, he squirts a good amount of the lube on his dick and evenly rubs it along himself to be fully slicked up so to not hurt Bucky.

Hunching over, Steve aims his cock head directly towards Bucky's awaiting entrance and plays with Bucky only slightly by grazing the head on his gaping hole and watching in delight as Bucky attempts to sink down on him but fails when Steve halts him with a hand on his chest.

"_Fuck_," his boyfriend bites out unsteadily and props himself up on his elbows to close the distance for a kiss. It's adorably needy and downright fucking cute to witness a grown ass man with doe eyes, sweat dripping off his crinkled forehead wrinkles creased from painfully keeping his eyes open, pouted lips, and incoherent pleads trying so urgently to get one little kiss even when his entire ass is about to be mercilessly fucked.

Heart heavy with adoration, Steve sets his cock at Bucky's entrance and before plunging, he leans down and embraces Bucky into his arms, kissing and nipping wherever he can on Bucky's face before reaching his lips and pressing inward. Bucky responds immediately and ducks his head shyly under Steve's chin all the while his soul is being torn to pieces, inch by inch as Steve takes deliberate care of getting inside him.

"_Oh_," the brunet involuntarily utters a few octaves higher than his normal voice at the intrusion, legs already quivering when Steve hasn't even eased all the way in. It comes out so innocent and unsuspecting that Steve's heart breaks at how anybody - including himself - could ever hurt such a precious creature. "_Ohhh_..." He braces himself, trying his hardest not to fly into an orbit of pleasure too high for Steve to get him out of. It's an internal battle because it feels so fucking good, but it hurts so fucking bad.

"_Shhh_, it's okay, baby," Steve coos reassuringly into his ear, moving as gently as possible, now moving centimeter by centimeter into the heat of him. "It's okay."

"Stevie," he squeals, snuggling closer to Steve's body and realizing he's only halfway inside Bucky, and yet there's so much pressure. He can and can't take it; it's torturous. He's never experienced such a feeling of doubt when it came to being physical with Steve. It's scaring him, but he can't bear to not get touched this way.

It's displayed clear on his face. All that's reading through is fear and desperation which unsettles Steve. He cups a hand to Bucky's face and kisses him softly, instantly melting away every inhibition he has.

"_Please_, fuck me," Bucky demands with ease.

That's all the consent Steve needs to surge the rest of the way into Bucky - that earns him a _hmmmm_ from behind Bucky's throat when he bottoms out. It's truly incapable of telling where one man starts and the other ends.

"You okay?"

Bucky nods and bites his chin lovingly to be cheeky before urging him in forward. "Move... Don't baby me till after. I'm okay..."

Although it's a tight fit as usual, Steve uses the permission granted to slide his hips back and pull out every bit of him but the head then carefully slide back in, balls deep within Bucky and watching him closely for signs of discomfort.

"Fuck," he's sighing, voice shaking till it rises to a yell. "It's always that first stoke that gets me." The younger man shiver through the wave of pain brought on by adjusting to Steve's size. A chuckle is lost on his tongue and quickly transforms to a startled whine when Steve moves back out again to compete a full thrust.

"Want me to stop?"

"N-no," he cries, completely hiding under Steve now and forcing them to fuse with Bucky's metal arm on Steve hips. "Don't ever stop. J-just go. Fuck m-me, sir."

And so he does.

Steve's always slow at first out of courtesy for Bucky getting adjusted and comfortable with what they're doing. It's always moments like this - being in one another's arms, rocking together with no start, end or finesse - that the men let sink in and savor for later, especially since this is their first time having sex since arriving on vacation. The other night could hardly count as sex - not very many people count an awkward slip and slide of making out till Bucky feigned sleep so he could cry to himself a good time.

It's gratifying to finally christen this bed within these four walls keeping them cooped and safely excluded from any outside forces wanting to tear them apart or bother them. It's a feeling worth documenting for Bucky to have the man of his dreams in his childhood paradise loving and adoring him in his barest form the way he is now as he pushes deeper and faster as the seconds roll by. It's a feeling worth crying over for Steve to be somewhere that's not his Brooklyn shell, having possibly the best sex ever with an actual human being that's not only hot as hell but loves him for the anxious hermit that he is.

"_Ughhhh_..." Bucky crows into Steve. "Fuck, sir..." His hole is beyond abused, and it's way passed puckered and sore - limping through Christmas is just what he'd wanted. Even as if burns and clenches involuntarily around Steve coming and going inches, he widens himself more to take him in faster and deeper. "Oh, fuck...sir, Stevie..."

"Feel good, babe?"

"Stevie, _harder_. _Please_..."

Their skin colliding and slapping together gets louder while their movements become sloppier as the sound fills the room along with the musk of their combined scents. It'd be pretty gross for any outsider to walk in and inhale this, but for them two, it's a drug getting them higher and higher that they could live in forever if they were allowed.

Hips rutting with no particular pattern, Steve continues kissing what he can reach of Bucky, chest rumbling with unreleased dirty talk and groans. His own face is pinched up with pleasure, teeth bared and growling while taking all the aggression out on Bucky's expanded hole. Steve's speed and roughness are borderline monstrous by the time they fall into a rhythm, leaving Bucky's head floating in space while his entire lower body goes numb and his legs quiver like he's cold when really he's never able to get enough of being used so selfishly by Steve. He _loves_ it; he could spend all of his eternity submitting to this and allowing Steve - and Steve _only_ \- to wreck his hole beyond the boundaries of abuse.

Bucky's body responds accordingly to Steve's ministrations. Each second his man plunges in and escapes back out, the goosebumps on his arms bloom and scatter all across his body. Chills run down his spine, his toes are curling from what he can see because he certainly can't feel them, and his whole head is drenched with sweat. With every thrust, he squeaks out a moan sounding just as unprepared as the last - his lips are dry from it. He has no clue what to do with his hands except hold on tight to the soaked sheets as a way of grounding himself because if he didn't, he'd be flopping around like a fish out of water by how hard Steve's going.

Just how he likes it.

"Goddammit," Steve exhales through heavy pants, lower half never stopping as he puts his weight on Bucky, stuffing himself deeper and right into his baby boy's prostate. A scream releases from Bucky, and suddenly there's no differentiating pain and pleasure when Steve relents harder, deeper, faster on the most sensitive part of him.

Even though their faces are adjacent but not touching, one can feel the other's facial hair erect and tingling only a centimeter or two away. After each hit on his prostate, Bucky's eyes cross adorably to be able to watch Steve's focused expression as he slews inward and out. He's trying so hard to mask his emotions about this, but when an exhausted Bucky's head falls and lands right on his shoulder, he loses it and lets his walls fall.

"Fuck," he swears calmly, fucking harder and carelessly into Bucky in a way that makes his back muscles burn and his chest heave in and out. Through it all, Bucky's holding him and coaxes the monster out of Steve with encouraging moans of _more, God, Stevie, please give me more..._

It's barely ninety seconds later does Steve's body function on a mission of its own, chasing an orgasm out of himself while reach one for Bucky.

"_Ugh_, Bucky... _Fuuuuuck_," he drawls out, head buried into the mattress because keeping his body up exerts too much energy, and he's way too caught up in the feel of Bucky bouncing on and off his dick. "Baby boy...feels so good..."

The tightening in their balls is simultaneous. Taking matters into his own hands, - literally- Steve reaches between their stuck bodies to wrap an unruly fist around Bucky's cock and jerk it to the rhythmic pace of the rest of their bodies. Gasping anxiously, Bucky sobs with his dilated, spaced out eyes glued to Steve's fucking beautiful face, prepared to see that face crumble under the intensity of his orgasm. It's definitely on its way - Steve's breath doesn't hitch nor do his toes curls how they are now for no reason.

"Shit," Bucky says out of pure love - _damn, this man's really mine?_ \- teeth chattering, staring longingly at those red lips above him puckered and parted to exhale hyping pants. "Can I have a kiss?"

Without a word, Steve presses his lips to Bucky's hungrily and never extracts them when he whimpers out, "Baby, I need you to come."

"I'm almost there, s-sir..." And he is. His dick is soaked with pre-come leaking from its slit, and Steve's hand might as well be apart of him with how hard he's jerking him closer and closer to an orgasm. To get him there, all he needs is a few tugs and words of encouragement.

"Oh, baby boy," Steve starts, Bucky's bottom lip is pierced between his clamped teeth. "You're so good f'me. _So good._ Love fucking this hole of yours..."

"Shit, I'm almost there..."

"Fucking good. Come so I can feed you my seed. You gonna swallow me like the good slut I know you are?"

"Shit, _yes_..." Bucky goddamn _loves_ this.

"Good _boy_. Good _slut_. Good kitty. Come for me-"

Stars dance in front of Bucky's vision when his eyes cross again and the biggest gust of wind a person can inhale escapes Bucky's lungs at once as his body rises from the bed and clings around Steve. His body resembles an explosion - unbridled twitches brought on by the orgasm running its course through his frame overtake him while he drenches Steve's hand and his own stomach with ounces of ejaculate spewing out of him.

"Fuck! Oh, _fuck_! F-f-for fuck's sake... _Jesus, _Stevie_..." _He's exclaiming, riding it out and sinking his teeth aimlessly into whatever patch of skin on Steve he can find. "Fuck..._fuck_. How in the... Sh-shit..."

Steve delivers a handful of thrusts before imitating Bucky with elevated chest tremors followed by his body going completely still before shaking everything out of him to the sound of husky grunts.

"_Bucky_," he gasps in the moments he's filling the condom, slowly blinking and getting himself the rest of the way there with about ten miniature pumps inside Bucky's limp form. "_Baby_..." he's sighing, so blissful, so in love.

"I'm here. I'm here," Bucky tells him, gathering whatever strength he can to get back on his elbows and comfort Steve in the aftermath of his orgasm. "_Shhh_..." he coos, flesh hand on his cheek while the other cards the droplets of sweat into his hair.

"Felt so good."

"I know."

"_Fuck_, babe..." The blond chuckles, allowing Bucky to lean upward and kiss along his face.

"You okay?" He whispers, shaping his man up as much as he can by smoothing his hair down so it's slick back and then wiping away any traces of saliva from around his mouth from panting so hard.

"I'm fine. You?"

"My asshole's gonna be on fire for a while, and I might need a wheelchair later on but for the most part, yeah," he laughs to himself, matter of fact, and places a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Kept thinking I was being too rough. I can get a little carried away when I'm distracted," he admits bashfully, purposely not meeting Bucky's eyes as he removes himself from inside of him to pull the condom off. It's completely wet which makes tying it off a messy task, but he gets it done and tosses it away to be discarded later. He hauls Bucky backwards with him as his body flattens out spread eagle on the sheets, sweat and drying semen completely forgotten.

Bucky curls into him and before getting completely comfortable, he checks the bed for his phone and re-opens Snapchat when he finds it.

"Put the phone down. Sleep, babe," Steve instructs, sneaking a look at his own device, astounded that it's forty-five after. "It's damn near four."

"My sister watched my Snapchat story, so I'm pretty sure she knows we just had sex," he responds, scrolling and watching the payback of them over and over with blood rushing to his already flushed face.

"With how long you were screaming, m' pretty sure everyone in Brooklyn knows we just had sex."

"Well, Sam watched it, too, so you're not entirely incorrect."

Steve snickers. He can picture Sam's face now - it'll either be pride or disgust. A good majority will be pride, since he's always been the main one trying to get Steve with someone, but that's not to say he would like to cheer him on if he were to ever walk in on Steve fucking Bucky's soul out.

"Why is everyone up so late to watch it anyway?" He asks with a yawn.

"Same reason we are. Christmastime makes people horny, I suppose."

That Santa and sexy elf costume are slowly creeping from the back of Steve's mind. He giggles again. "Can't argue with that. Now let's _sleep_."

Bucky settles into Steve's cuddle but doesn't put his phone down until adding another video -_ "Say hi to Snapchat, babe." "Hi to Snapchat, babe."_ \- then resting his head on Steve's broad chest.

He doesn't drift though. Steve's out like any man would be after sex, lightly snoring yet still aware of himself when he wraps

his outstretched arm around Bucky to snuggle him closer and kisses his forehead.

Steve's drumming heartbeat is sweeter than any melody or lullaby, so I'm efforts to get to sleep, Bucky listens to it and tries to match it with his own. _Thump_. . . _Thump_. .

And even as he listens to his and Steve's life line, his body's not allowing itself to shut down. It's still there - their fight - in the back of his mind, and ultimately he feels sick to his stomach that the only way he won't think about how badly he's still hurt is if he's having sex with Steve. That's keeping him up. _Way_ up. _Too_ up.

Truthfully, if he were to die this way - blessed and euphoric in Steve's arms - so he wouldn't have to go through the remainder of his life feeling so guilty, so hurt, and so much like a failure, he'd be happy._ So fucking happy._

It's probably about five when Steve's snoring abruptly stops, he tiredly licks his chapped lips, and sighs, "You're thinking hard."

Bucky glances up but never moves his head from the damp pillows it has made out of Steve's pectoral. "How'd you know?" He asks in amazement.

"'Cus I know you," he tells him simply, and it's very true. It's rare to have such a connection with someone that their discomfort could actually bring a guy out of their sleep. "Talk to me."

Those are like trigger words for him. Bucky could chat Steve's ear off for hours about any stupid thing, but with this -something of importance - he can't. He won't. Steve already feels terrible about it so where's the need in even mentioning this?

"I really don't wanna keep talking about it," he announces dismissively, sitting upward to look at Steve and although his eyes are still closed, he looks grim. He shifts only slightly and tucks Bucky back down into his embrace.

"A very wise, very cute guitar playing cyborg once told me 'you're not over it because you're belligerent in letting anyone help you through it.' What happened to him?" Steve smirks, peeking an eye open to peer at Bucky. Glancing back at Steve, he blushes hard and takes hold of three of his fingers to keep in his hand.

"If I talk about it, I'm gonna cry. I don't wanna keep crying about it. I know you didn't mean what you said, so there's no reason for me to still be hurt-"

"I can't even begin to tell you how incorrect that is," Steve jumps in, turning his head to look down at Bucky cooped up in his arms. "It's okay that it still hurts."

"Stop using my own quotes against me."

"But it's true - is it not? Practice what you preach, Buck. I know it still hurts. You don't have to pretend it doesn't just because you were the one to patch me up when I broke down about it. Doesn't matter if I didn't mean it, okay? I said it. It hurt you. You haven't spoken your piece about it, so it's gonna continue to hurt."

Steve pauses to sigh and rotate to on his side so he and Bucky are facing each other. His eyes are closed again. "And if it makes you uncomfortable to talk about it with me right now, that's fine, too. Just getting those emotions out somehow is what I want, whether it be talking to Sam during your sessions or through music; that being said, don't leave me in the dark about it. Let me know. Tell me."

"Could say the same about you and Peggy," Bucky wants to say, but instead kisses his boyfriend's nose and cuddles him a little bit more. No need to start a fight if there isn't one.

With little effort and a few forehead kisses, Bucky's fast asleep in Steve's arms, still gripping those three fingers in his slumber like they're keeping him plugged into his dream.

The clock strikes about eight in the morning when Steve slips out of bed to stretch and watch the sunset naked at the glass wall just for the fuck of it. At this point, there's no more fucks to give; the waves are rocking, island birds are chirping, the rising sun has the sky in an array of pinks, oranges, and white like paint samples swirled carelessly on a palette. Where else is he gonna get a view like this?

"_Stevie_," Bucky yawns sluggishly from the bed, back turned to him while his hand rubs down the mattress in search for him. It takes a minute for Steve to tear his eyes from the approaching morning before traipsing quietly back over to the mattress to kiss a still very much passed out Bucky's forehead.

He uses the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and gets half dressed in lounge clothes before cleaning up scattered clothes and trash in their room. In the midst of doing so, he creeps towards the living room and stands at the doorway a while contemplating if he should listen to the rest of the mixtape.

Well, Bucky's still asleep, so now's as good time as any. He strides into the room confidentially, heads straight for the stereo system, and pushes some buttons till the disc reaches track eight so he can hear the every so forbidden song Bucky didn't want him hearing.

He turns the volume up only slightly so not to wake Bucky and takes a seat on the sofa, album in hand, guitar strumming over the speakers. Before the song can start, he braces himself.

Throughout the entire duration of the song, Steve doesn't say a thing nor pass a single judgement. He listens closely, and naturally, his heart breaks for Bucky.

_I should never think _

_What's in your heart_

_What's in our home_

_So I won't_

_You'll learn to hate me _

_But still call me baby_

_Oh, love_

_So call me by my name_

_And save your soul _

_Save your soul_

_Before you're too far gone_

_Before nothing can be done_

_I'll try to decide when _

_She'll lie in the end_

_I ain't got no fight in me_

_In this whole damn world_

_Tell you to hold off_

_You choose to hold on_

_It's the one thing that I've known_

_Once I put my coat on _

_I'm coming out in this all wrong_

_She's standing outside holding me_

_Saying, 'Oh, please_

_I'm in love_

_I'm in love'_

_Girl save your soul _

_Go on save your soul_

_Before you're too far gone_

_Before nothing can be done_

_'Cause without me _

_You got it all_

_So hold on_

_Without me you got it all_

_So hold on_

_Without me you got it all_

_Without me you got it all_

_So hold on_

_Without me you got it all_

_So hold on_

_Without me you got it all_

_So hold on_

* * *

The morning of the twenty-fifth is always an early one, regardless of family or tradition. It's reaching six in the morning, and the mansion's silent in the most eery way possible - any second now, they'll be an uproar of excitement and screaming to wake everyone up.

Until then, Steve and Bucky marinate in the golden silence for as long as they can, staring at each other, doe eyed and extremely grateful that they're here with the other.

"Merry Christmas," Steve mutters, putting a lock of hair behind Bucky's ear. "Your breath stinks."

"Merry Christmas. Yours does, too," he replies back just as lovingly. "Excited to see what you got?"

"Santa's already blessed me with the best gift imaginable," he tells him, kissing his forehead and snuggling him to his chest. "I get to look at this ass all day and night, and that's all I'll ever need." His hands creep deeper into the covers to squeeze Bucky's ass.

"Lucky you," Bucky mumbles, closing his eyes again. "Our first Christmas and we're laying in bed talking 'bout ass."

"Like that's a bad thing."

"How long do you think before the little one comes rushing in here to try and wake us up?"

Steve thinks about it for a second and checks the time on his phone. "Well, it's only six-fifteen so probably-"

"Merry Christmas!" The little girl's shrill cheers can be heard all the way down the hallway, followed by her rapid footsteps towards their bedroom. "_GUYS, IT'S CHRISTMAS!" _

He puts his phone down and sighs. "Now."

Not even a second later, the child bursts through the bedroom doors and dives straight for the bed with flawless effort. She lands in the limited slot between Steve and Bucky with a smile as bright as the rising sun outside.

"Daddy, it's Christmas!" She repeats, squirming about to get to her feet only to fall back down when Steve playfully swoops under her leg.

"Is it really? Thought it was my birthday," he yawns and hauls the little girl back up to he and Steve so they can cuddle in on her. "What do you think you got?"

"I probably got a pony, right? Santa brought me a pony, didn't he?"

"I can definitely assure you Santa didn't get you a pony."

"How 'bout a dragon?"

Steve chuckles. "Dragons don't exist."

"Well, jeez, I don't know," she dismisses the subject with a flail of her arms and an eye roll. "What do you guys think you got?"

"Steve said he hoped he got someone's ass for Christmas," Bucky mutters, but she hears anyway and shoots Steve a glare before he can react.

"That's dirty," she says with a grimace.

"Would it be dirtier if I said it was your dad's ass?" he jokes and completely repulsed and wide eyed, Mischka shudders and lightly hits his chest.

"Poop comes out of there!" She cries incredulously while Steve and Bucky maintain their laughter to a minimum.

"And other things go in," Bucky adds low enough for only himself and Steve to catch.

To avoid further embarrassment, Steve pipes up with, "How bout you go get your aunt and Wade up and we'll meet y'all downstairs?"

"Whatever," the child scoffs and removes herself from in between them. "Boys are nasty. I never want a boyfriend."

"Now _that_-" Bucky exclaims happily, pointing to Mischka. "- is a motion I can get behind."

She's already gone and stomping down the hall before he even finishes his sentence. Steve rolls his eyes with a shy grin, flops onto his own boyfriend and meekly asks, "Can I still get a kiss even when my breath stinks?"

In mock resistance, Bucky presses his lips to Steve's in a chaste, closed-mouthed kiss. "Now get the fuck up, Santa."

Despite the warm breezes, rolling waves, and palm trees surrounding the estate, Steve's heart swells to the brink of bursting at the winter wonderland he walks into when he and Bucky walk hand in hand downstairs. A gigantic Christmas tree with a beach as its background isn't something he'd think he'd ever get used to seeing, but somehow he has. The atmosphere he's in now - Mischka doing laps around the tree to see which of the gifts are hers when she knows majority of them are. Wade's whipping up a batch of hot chocolate just for the fuck of it even though it's eighty degrees outside. Becca teasing Bucky and making him blush about his first Christmas with Steve - is one that reminds him of the endless joyful holidays with Sarah and Joseph. Even when it was just him and Sarah for a while, he loved it. There was only an empty void from the she Sarah had passed and to Bucky arriving at his doorstep.

It seems nearly impossible to be so happy, and because Steve's such a martyr, all he sees is the downside of such a festive environment. Only Steve Rogers is able to turn a Christmas morning with what he can call his family into a negative.

He's here. Natasha's not.

He may not have known her, but he knows she would've enjoyed being with her family, spending the morning opening presents and eating a home cooked dinner that night. He can only assume that Wade and Becca liked her, and more than anything Mischka would love her to the ends of Earth.

_And Bucky... _

Steve sighs, glaring off at nothing in particular while Mischka rips open presents. Her father watches with hearts in his eyes as he sits Indian style before the tree.

Bucky loved Natasha - that much is obvious. No one puts themselves through what Bucky

did if they didn't love someone as much as Bucky loved her.

_"What Nat and I had wasn't romantic. I was forced into marrying my best friend..."_

As much as he didn't wanna admit it, Steve fills a hole in Bucky's heart that Natasha unintentionally couldn't. Didn't.

It's a huge hole that merely expanded when she died.

It's not that she wasn't good enough.

She was more than enough, technically speaking, but she wasn't going to ever truly fulfill Bucky's needs the way they'd been yearning to.

Regardless of Bucky being only mildly attracted to her due to her sex, it would've never worked. Nat knew. Bucky knew. It's only imaginable the guilt they'd felt when they drunkenly conceived a daughter who was to grow up in a home with two people who weren't truly in love. That wouldn't have been fair to push the socially acceptable gender normality of husband and wife on someone so impressionable.

Steve can only think of Natasha as a spitfire of a lady who fought for her and Bucky's right to raise the baby together but separate. As Bucky's best friend, she knew he wanted something different. She knew he wanted to find a man to fall in love with, have a child with, build a home, leave a legacy with...

He wanted to love and be loved back on his own terms after so many instances where the choice was taken from him.

He wanted his first marriage to be his only and last.

He wanted to take someone else's last name. He wanted his troublesome youth behind him with carefree adventures with him, his daughter, and his partner ahead.

Nat, no matter how much they forced it, couldn't give him that.

She wanted to _but_...

She just _wasn't_ Steve.

She had Bucky's heart in a different way, but she never fully had the power to absolutely destroy or love Bucky the way Steve does.

In all actuality, no one does.

If they broke up today and let someone else have the other, it'd be no shock if they just dropped dead from heartbreak or lack of proper care. No one knows how to be with Steve the way Bucky does and no one will ever come close to what Bucky can do for Steve. It's impossible. No fight could change that. It only makes them more desperate and love each other harder than before.

Upon realizing that, Steve's fighting the urge to cry. Tears of _happiness_? Tears of _pain_? Tears of _sadness_? Maybe, all three.

Thankfully, Wade, Becca, and Mischka aren't paying Steve much attention to notice his eyes are watering while he fights a sad smile.

However, Bucky's been watching him the whole time, reading him through and through like a sheet of music, frowning at his expression. There's a storm brewing in that tired, blond head of his. Grabbing a particular gift from under the tree, Bucky silently removes himself from the family to swiftly take Steve by the hand and lead him to the garden without a word.

"Bucky?" He says when they're barely out of earshot of the living room, but Bucky only responds with a smirk and a mischievous raise in his brow. He leads them to the center of the garden, farther away from the house and closer to the beach, before facing Steve.

"Who the fuck pouts on Christmas?" he blurts out, poking him in the chest with the edge of the rectangular gift box in hand.

Steve blinks. "I'm fine, Bu-"

"No, you're not. Neither am I," he scoffs with a lighthearted chuckle. "_Neither_ of us are fine. We're two very insecure, PTSD stricken, depressed dickheads who are so in love that we care about the other more than ourselves but refuse to open up to each other for fear of the other leaving them when in all actuality, ain't shit on earth ever breaking us apart because we're so goddamn shy and awkward that if anyone other than us tries to even say hello, we immediately jump to say '_I have a boyfriend.'"_

Steve's silent for a moment before nodding and shrugging in agreement. "Sounds like us."

"So, don't tell me you're fine especially when I know you're not. Something's bothering you, and whether you choose to tell me is up to you even though I'd bet my right arm you won't."

_Fuck, Bucky knows you too damn well, Rogers. _"It's nothing."

Bucky's arms go flailing up then plopping down in disbelief while his eyes rocket upwards and roll about. "_This mutha-fucka,_" he grumbles and shakes his head. "It's always nothing. When will it stop being nothing?"

Steve doesn't have an answer for that.

"Baby, I don't mean to jump down your throat, but it kills me when you keep all this in," Bucky tells him lowly, cupping his face. "You know I'm always here."

_What did I do to deserve you? "_I know."

"Promise?"

Steve sighs, hypnotized in what could only be described as heaven when he stares into Bucky's eyes. "I promise."

"Now unless you got coal in your stocking, can we at least enjoy Christmas?"

A smile forces its way on Steve's face when he nods and takes Bucky's unoccupied hand into his own. "Yeah, we can."

"Good," Bucky perks up, presenting the gift to Steve. "Open it."

"More gifts?" Steve asks nervously. Judging by the shape of the box, it looks like jewelry, which happens to be_ very expensive... _

Bucky must detect how uneasy Steve gets because he snatches the gift back and laughs. "It's a custom made gift. I didn't have to do anything dirty to get it."

Bucky shreds off the entire lining of wrapping paper with one swipe of his metal hand to reveal a black suede bracelet box. Steve hesitantly watches as his boyfriend opens it and a pair of dog tags on a metal chain stare back at him.

"I got these done back on our second anniversary," Bucky explains, taking the necklace out to show Steve. "Read them."

Leaning in, Steve takes a tag in hand and pulls it close to his face to read the inscription.

_BUCKY'S FAVORITE CAPTAIN _

_32557038_

_10.13.15 - FOREVER _

Face flushing, Steve pretends to suppress his giddy reaction and looks up at his Bucky.

"_32557038_ was my serial number way back when. Thought it'd be cute for you to wear so that people know to keep their fucking hands off of you," he explains calmly. "Sappy, huh?"

"You got no idea." Steve brings him forward for a hard kiss on the lips than travels to his nose then cheeks. "You are the cheesiest fucker in the galaxy, and I'm gonna wear these things till my dying day, you jerk."

They more than likely would've made love right in the middle of the garden after Bucky adorns Steve's neck with the dog tags until Mischka comes rushing out with Steve's phone in hand, shouting excitedly that Sam was calling.

Only then do they remember it's Christmas, and they have a family to tend to.


	21. 21

"Sissy," "land critter," and "killjoy" are among the names Bucky and Mischka throw Steve's way when he rejected the idea of getting into the ocean. Wade and Becca collectively called him a "pretty boy buzz kill" before getting in, but it didn't phase Steve enough to leave his comfortable beach chair setup equipped with a few beers, his phone, and his sketch pad. He happily took the names and continued drawing what he could mentally still of the beach before him before his phone began to ring shrilly. His eyes flick over for barely a second when he presses accept to the FaceTime. Within seconds, Tony Stark's face pops up on the screen appearing just as giddy and happy as ever. "Talk to me, Cap. How's paradise?" He asks while a whirring sound goes off in the background.

"Better than Brooklyn."

Tony smirks. "Never thought I'd hear you say such a thing."

"Well, there's a first time for everything. Like we went hiking out in the forest the other day, and I'm even getting some color. See?"

Steve holds the phone near his face again to show off his even browning complexion. Tony nods, impressed, and half smiles.

"Thank goodness. Your pasty ass was starting to take a toll on my work."

He ignores that jab and sets his phone back down, making it so all Tony sees is the passing clouds in the sky above. "What's going on on your end? How's the lovely wife?"

"Your genius of a friend is working on upgrading your horrendous office. And Pepper?" He pauses. "She's married to me, so..." He shrugs without finishing the already complete thought, and Steve nods knowingly.

"Seems about right."

"So, what're you and Bucky Bear gonna be doing for the new year?"

At that, Steve picks his phone up again to and face the camera towards his feigned stern expression. "You been talking to Sam? Why does everyone call him that? Did all my friends just have a meeting without me and decide that's what you're gonna call him?"

Tony giggles and travels his way throughout his lab checking numbers with his cell phone propped on his desk. "The guy's like a teddy bear, is he not?"

Looking over his phone, he catches Bucky and Mischka caught in an endearing game of chicken fight with Wade and Becca. The smile on his face is genuine, and it gets a fond curve growing on one side of Steve's mouth.

"I always dreamed of being the Papa Bear and finding a girl to be my Mama Bear. Mischka translates to-"

"Little Bear."

Steve sighs contently. "It's pretty fitting." He looks back to Tony. "But to answer your question, we're going to this island party that some of the natives are throwing tonight."

"Sounds saucy especially for Steve Rogers, America's Golden Boy Scout, who never leaves his apartment."

That gets his eyes rolling. If he had a dime for every time one of his friends referred to him as a Boy Scout or some variation of that name, he could probably own the beach house.

"You'd be surprised what kinda shit I'm getting into nowadays."

"Like Bucky?"

Steve can't help a second eye roll that's accompanied with a proud smirk this time. "What're your plans tonight, Tony?"

"The usual," he answers, writing down some stats on his clipboard and analyzing a blueprint. "Pep and I taking a jet to the Alps then coming back home tomorrow night."

"How is it that you're working on New Year's Eve? The world'll last one day without a toaster that talks or heated flooring."

"Speaking of, how're yours working for you? I've made some upgraded adjustments to the internal hardware to make it so you can adjust the temperature with just the turn of a dial. Also, did you want that in the office, too? Might be a little harder considering carpet's not exactly heat resistant-"

"Tony," Steve interrupts and lifts his phone again. His friend has stopped talking but judging but how he's staring up at a holographic blueprint of Steve's office floating in the middle of his office with a fascinated yet dazed puppy dog look, he's deep in thought. There's a reason Tony's a billionaire, and it's mostly due to moments like this where he won't even take New Year's Eve to step away from his work.

"Tony, why don't you take a break from my office, alright?" Steve insists calmly, sipping his beer and swirling it around in the bottle with his free hand. "My office will still be shitty in 2016, so there's no rush in trying to finish it now."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts," he protests with a laugh at the impatient look Tony's shooting his way through the phone screen.

"Fine. Since you won't allow me to work, tell me more about what's going on with you. Are you enjoying being in a relationship again? Being back out in public and getting your dick sucked regularly?"

An immediate smile plays on Steve's face as his eyes flash to Tony's expecting glare, Bucky and Mischka frolicking in the ocean, and his half done sketch. "Well, yeah, the relationship thing's a lot more fun than I remember. Haven't really dated anyone decent like Buck in a while."

"Gee, thanks, Cap."

"It was one date, Tony, and you're married now," Steve pointed out even though he knew he was only teasing. Tony giggles and shakes his head of the memory of that night. It was one of those things that was wasn't particularly terrible that it happened, but it's best every party involved just forgot it did.

"But in all seriousness, it's pretty rewarding to be called someone's partner again," he tells him and shrugs a little. "Bucky hates when I call myself that. Says it makes me sound like we're cops. He likes to call me his 'boyfriend' or his 'bae,' whatever the hell that is. It's weird, actually, 'cus I'm not a boy. And 'man-friend' sounds fucking stupid."

"Oh, you're a man, alright," Tony squawks incredulously and returns back to work despite what Steve's said. "Pep and I watch his Snapchat stories and the things he posts on there of what you do to him'll put hair on any man's chest."

With a lighthearted shrug, Steve sets his phone back down. "I love being in a relationship. I love taking care of him and the little one."

"'Bout time you got to moving on."

Steve scoffs. "Moving on," he repeats, shading in an incoming wave. "Being in a relationship's got other shit I forgot about, though."

"Like?"

"Arguments. Disagreements. Compromising."

"Ah, my three favorite things about relationships that get worst when you get married."

"That's just you and Pepper," Steve tells himself. He can't bear marrying Bucky only to have a repeat of what happened that morning - especially not for the rest of their lives.

Tony groans. "You wish. What happened? Tell Uncle Tony."

It's only mildly appealing that Steve doesn't hesitate to fill him in on the situation. He tries his damnedest not to tear up about it and neglects to go into detail about Peggy or anything involving her. He listens respectfully, nodding his head while analyzing the blueprints. When Steve's finished telling him the gist of the argument, Tony sighs heavily and chuckles under his breath. "The first fight is usually the most painful," he says vaguely, but all Steve can think to do is disagree.

"Tony, Bucky and I aren't supposed to be like that. Y'know, like every other couple. We're not supposed to argue and-" Steve tries to explain, but Tony's not hearing it.

"You think I'm kidding? You weren't single that long - you know serious relationships go through their trials and tribulations. And besides, you're thirty-two. You're mature enough to know you'll go through any type of bullshit arguments and absurd compromises to make something you want with someone you want work. I know you love Bucky more than you love anything. I know you, Rogers. You'll go through hell and back for him. Wouldn't you?"

He huffs at the accuracy. There's a very short list of things that Steve wouldn't do for Bucky, but even then he'd probably say 'fuck all' to his morals and do them anyway if his baby boy really wanted it. "Yeah, I would."

"So what's one fight, right? Steve Mr. Perfection Rogers is allowed to have flaws in his relationship. And trust me, there's nothing better then that first fuck after making up."

Steve can't figure what he can't stand more: The fact that he and Bucky are like any couple and that arguments should be normal or that Tony Stark, of all people, is giving him legitimate relationship advice and he had to point said fact out to him. It must show on his face because Tony laughs again.

"When did you become such a relationship expert?" Steve asks rhetorically, but Tony answers anyway with a smug grin.

"I've always been one, Cap. Just never tapped into it until slipping a ring on the woman of my dream's finger. A might heavy, expensive ring, I might add. Speaking of..." He trails off sneakily, and Steve knows right where the conversation is heading. Tony is the last person he wants to talk to about his hypothetical wedding and marriage given by the end of the call, the guy could be trying to fund their entire honeymoon.

"No, no, no-" Steve mutters, dipping his chin into his neck, eyes downcast with his cheeks hot from the sun and embarrassment. "I know what you're gonna ask, and the answer is not now."

"If not now, then when?" Tony asks giddily, shuffling around his office some more, working along the way. Steve sighs.

"Maybe a year from now. Two years," he thinks for a second. "I said by the time the kid reaches middle school."

"Putting a time limit on it only holds it off, Rogers."

"Yeah, I know, but-" he stops his sentence abruptly to look down at his drawing and without even realizing it, he'd doodled 'Steve and James Rogers' multiple times with floating hearts along the corner of his page. He exhales again and rolls his eyes.

Dammit , Tony.

"You're right, but I don't wanna feel like I'm rushing anything," he explains lamely despite knowing if he could marry Bucky tonight, he would.

"When you know, you know, buddy," Tony tells him, very matter of fact in tone. Steve glances away to see Bucky's on his way out of the water and towards Steve to dry off.

His tan skin is glistening from droplets of water clinging to the delicate yet hard curves and edges of muscle contracting with every move he makes out of the water. As if that didn't make Steve's mouth water, he takes in the detail of how defined his abdominal muscles have gotten along with the expansive growth of his biceps and the way his swim trunks hang low on his hips to expose that Adonis belt that peeked shyly under a crop top crew neck the first time they'd met.

Also, since when did Bucky get such big pectorals? His tits are almost as big as Steve's!

And fuck, those legs. Those thighs. Leave it to Bucky to have the physically capability to have such soft and supple pillow like thighs that could simultaneously choke a bear out.

Even though Bucky's an even two inches shorter than Steve, if Steve imagined hard enough, he could trick himself into believing Bucky might be bigger than him now.

That's pretty...exciting.

All the lewd thoughts racing in his head must project onto his facial expression because Tony's awkwardly staring at him stare at Bucky. "Cap?"

Damn, that's mine. All mine. Mine. Like, no one else is allowed to touch. Like this person is mine. My person. Like-

"Cap, I'm gonna call you back. Tell Bucky Bear I said hi," he chuckles, rolling his eyes and reaching for his phone. Steve barely looks away and only blushes slightly when he realizes he'd said all that aloud. He barely gets out a goodbye before Tony's hanging up, and Bucky's within earshot.

"Who was that?l" he asks, shaking his towel of sand in the passing breeze before drying his hair and draping it around his shoulders like a cape.

"Tony," Steve answers, watching his boyfriend's reaction carefully as he puts his sketchbook and phone to the side so that Bucky can sit in his lap. He doesn't get much of one when Bucky takes the silent invitation, putting all his weight into Steve's lap, getting him wet in the process. The pressure in Steve's lap has the chair sinking farther into the sand, but neither seem to care.

"Mhm," he hums, reaching out to grab Steve's sketch book and looking at his latest creation. "We're gonna get you in the water at some point."

"I don't swim."

"You also didn't fly, cuss, or eat donuts before dating me, so there's hope," he quips, kissing Steve's temple and setting the pad back onto the arm chair. "How do you feel about night swimming?" He asks, setting his metal arm around Steve's neck while the other plays with the dog tags hanging to his chest.

His heart jumps at the anxiety of it. To keep the playful mood, he just grins and says, "So Ursula can get me? I'd rather not."

Impressed with yet another Disney reference, Bucky lets a shy smile play on his lips while his eyelids bat flirtatiously. "If not the ocean, at least the pool. We've got pool lights that change color so I'll be able to see if Ursula or the Loch Ness Monster or anything else gets you."

"My hero," he huffs and

"Call me Poseidon," he jokes, kissing his temple, and dropping his voice suggestively lower. "I promise it'll be fun, sir."

It's unfair. So unfair. It's nearly impossible for Bucky to not get his way when he uses that damn voice. He especially knows he'll get his way with that voice and calling him by Steve's favorite nickname. Doesn't matter if Bucky grows to seven feet tall and gains muscle like Popeye - he's always the baby, and the baby always gets their way. It's easy to see where Mischka gets it from.

"Sure. Night swimming," Steve consents reluctantly, rolling his eyes while Bucky smirks victoriously and kisses his head again.

"We'll do it tonight after we get home. It'll be fun, babe."

"Yeah, okay," he utters, finishing his second beer and handing Bucky a bottle. "That is if we don't get too drunk at the party."

Bucky's nodding in agreement and opening his drink before he stops midway, thinks to himself for a second and exhales. "We've gotta write our letters."

"Sorry?"

"Our fear letters," he tells him and drinks a gulp before shrugging. "For the party. It's a tradition."

"What's a fear letter?" Steve asks, genuinely curious.

"The islanders have this tradition at their New Year's Eve parties where everyone writes and brings a handwritten letter addressed to a deceased loved one telling them about our biggest fear," he starts. "At midnight, before kissing, everybody throws their letter into this fire pit so that the ashes or whatever reach heaven so our passed relatives can read 'em and bless us with good luck for the new year. It's kind of like a forgetting the past and looking forward to the future type of tradition."

"That's kinda nice."

"Isn't it? I always write to Winnie, or sometimes to George depending on the year I've been having. I think it helps. What I was scared of last year, I'm not anymore."

"What'd you write about?"

Pink manipulates the new olive shade of Bucky's skin when the same shy smile appears on his face at the question. "I wrote to my dad about how I was afraid I would be by myself by that time this year."

Steve blushes, too. "Oh, how the tables have turned," he sighs dramatically, pecking butterfly kisses onto the sharp edge of Bucky's jaw.

"Yeah, they have, haven't they?"

"What're you gonna write about this year?"

Bucky scoffs and lets the dog tags drop with a clink to Steve's chest. "It's bad luck if you tell someone else other than your dead relative. Sorry, my lips are sealed, baby."

"Well, I'll have you know I'm not afraid of anything," Steve boasts confidently with a puff in his already massive chest, but Bucky knows he's only kidding. Steve could write a novel and it's sequel on the things he's afraid of.

"Yeah, okay, tough guy."

After lunch, Bucky and Steve separate to different ends of the property to write their letters.

* * *

The man can barely articulate his words normally, but to put them on paper is pushing abilities he doesn't even have. A task like this is easy for a poet songwriter like Bucky, but Steve's been staring at his loose leaf notebook paper for the good portion of an hour, tapping his pen to the beat of the music in his earbuds.

He doesn't feel too bad about having a blank page since he already knows he's writing to Sarah about how afraid he is of dying alone. At first, his fear was losing Bucky and Mischka, then it was never getting married or having kids which brought him to evaluate how his life was prior to those two.

Ultimately, dying alone with nothing but his artwork left behind was the result. He didn't want that. Did anybody?

He sighs softly to himself, chewing the eraser end of the pencil in frustration while the blank page before him stares back patronizingly. Not even Bucky's voice in his ears - he'd downloaded the mix tape to his phone - could help him, and that's his main inspiration. If he lost Bucky or Mischka...

Fuck, don't think about that, Rogers.

Words obviously aren't gonna come, so he might as well do what he does best. It's not like anyone else is gonna see his letter; this is for Sarah's viewing and interpretation only, and no one knows Steve like Sarah. She'd understand everything.

Steve's hand isn't able to stop once it starts drawing. Several songs later, he's drawn a sad self portrait, detailing the fears and loss within himself in each line and shade of the drawing. He's proud of the end result, by admittedly upset that the fear is more realistic than anything else be could think of. He doggy-ears the top right corner of the the page, initials the bent portion and like clock work, Bucky strolls into the foyer, two long sleeve shirts slung over his shoulder and a shy smile.

"Finished?" He asks politely, pointing to Steve's paper before taking a seat beside him on the cushioned bench.

"Yeah, just about," Steve answers and just because he's in proximity, he ducks his head to steal a kiss. Bucky turns red and shifts in his seat to face him. "What's up?"

"Need your opinion on which one I should wear tonight," he tells him and pulls both shirts off his metallic shoulder to hold them towards his chest. He glances back up at a decisive Steve.

"I like the blue one," he says, pointing to the navy blue, cotton crew neck then back to Bucky's face. "Brings out the blue undertones of your eyes. Also, why're you planning on wearing a long sleeve when it's gonna be at least seventy degrees plus humidity tonight?"

The brunette shrugs and tosses both articles of clothing back over his shoulder.

"I don't think anyone's gonna care that you have a metal arm, babe."

"Easy for you to say when you're immune to the fact that it's there. I've faced hotter than seventy degrees in a Henley. I'll be okay."

Unconvinced, Steve rolls his eyes and his eyes involuntarily flash to Bucky's arm. It looks so natural - like it's supposed to be there, and humans accidentally got flesh arms by accident. "I'll wear one, too, if you're afraid of being the only one in a long sleeve." Steve starts it as a joke, but definitely considers the idea as soon as it leaves his mouth.

That gets another shrug and a snicker in return this time. Nonchalant and with a resilient front, Bucky shakes his head and rests it gingerly on Steve's shoulder. "I'm not afraid of that."

Curious, Steve peers down at him to gauge a reaction but there isn't much of one on his kitten-esque face. The drawing seems like it's burning right through the remaining pages of his notebook when he opens his mouth to ask, "What are you afraid of?"

"It's against tradition to tell you what's in my letter, Steve."

"'M not asking what you wrote about. I just wanna know one thing you're afraid of. Just one thing," he reiterates, pressing a sweet kiss to Bucky's crown at the same time his boyfriend exhales and chuckles self deprecatingly to himself. Steve can already sense he won't like his answer.

A minute or two passes before the younger man lifts his weight off of Steve, takes him by the hand in his lap with a metal one and answers too simply, "You."

He hadn't expected that. Steve scrunches his eyebrows together, perplexed, while his baby blues dart frantically over Bucky's face in a search for answers as to why that'd be his answer. Bucky's grinning just enough to comfort Steve, but not goofy enough to relay he's kidding. The act of Steve's heart cracking and combusting into millions of shards displays clear in his dejected expression, but Bucky kisses him softly on the corner of his bottom lip before it begins to tremble helplessly.

"Me?"

The lack of humor in such a serious topic scares Steve - especially if it's coming from Bucky. This is the type of conversation they'd usually be laughing about but as sure as Steve's in love with him, Bucky's completely serious about his answer, yet still staring at him like he's promised to hang the moon for him.

Immediate insecurity strikes Steve's core like a bullet out of a gun. "Is it because of the other day? Buck, b-babe, I'm so sorry-"

Bucky stops him with a hand to his cheek and a peck to the part of his lips again. "I'm absolutely petrified of you," he confesses calmly, words landing on Steve's face as though to be imprinted there forever. "Absolutely scared to death of you. And you know why?"

Steve blinks. He has a few guesses.

"Cus, Stevie, you have the power to build me and destroy me all at the same time. I don't know when it happened, but, babe, it did. I love you, and I'd die happy as hell knowing I allowed you to have so much fucking control over me," he explains, only meeting Steve's gaze on certain words to shield his embarrassment to such a confession as well as avoid that dejected look on his boyfriend's face.

"I'm not saying this to hurt your feelings," he continues, lifting Steve's head by his chin with two fingers when it droops. "I'm saying it to be honest. When you touch me, kiss me, say my name - anything- I get scared as fuck because you're one touch or kiss further into my heart - a place I never wanted to let anyone into again. I had it locked down tight for so long, and when you alluva sudden come into my life and it immediately opens, it shocked me. Without ever having to say a word to me, it accepted you. Y'see why I got scared? Why I'm scared of you?"

Steve doesn't say anything but instead blinks. What is he supposed to say?

"It scares me because-," he pauses to think and exhales, "Because I don't know how I let myself fall so hard for you. From the second, the fucking millisecond I saw you, something clicked. Something happened. I loved you before I even knew you. You could've turned out to be a serial killer who likes to fuck his victim's dead bodies and as much as my brain would tell me to leave you alone, my heart would've won.

"I tried so hard to stay away from you. But I kept seeing you everywhere! Walking Carter, going to the deli, going on a jog - and for someone who never leaves their apartment, I saw so much of you. Maybe that's why it was meant to be," he chuckles to himself and Steve joins in, but never opens his mouth. Bucky's not finished.

"Fuck, I knew if I ever officially met you, I'd be head over heels. I knew I'd end up falling in love. Call it intuition, but I knew. I just knew. When I first saw you, I knew. I've always been afraid of you, not because of anything you've done, but just how you are. There's some sort of magic to you that makes you otherworldly. Like an angel. Or a curse. I can't tell," he mutters that last part and shakes his head in what looks like disbelief. "That's a little overwhelming."

Steve nods to show he's listening, but he can't say he understands. Bucky's scared of him - but in a good way? Out loud it doesn't make sense, but as Bucky explains it to him, a few points stand out comprehensibly. Even though Bucky promises it's not because of the other morning, Steve'll always think it is. He'd scared himself - there's no way it doesn't contribute to Bucky's admission.

I love you. I love you, Bucky.

"Is that it?" Steve asks curiously. Judging by the look on his baby boy's face, there's still more to this. Leaning forward to kiss Steve's chin, Bucky exhales for probably the hundredth time since sitting down and rolls his eyes at himself. The kiss lands just a centimeter shy under Steve's bottom lip, so Bucky kisses that too. It's chaste, delicate, and quick but Bucky still notes that his boyfriend tastes like beer.

Moments of stretched silence pass before Steve cocks his eyebrow and asks "Is that it?" again with that bass in his voice that turns Bucky into a melting mess of emotions and desires. He knows there's more to it; Bucky knows he knows. They just fucking know.

"Um," the younger man starts shyly and ducks his head into the curve of Steve's neck. That's his safety zone - the one place in the world that he knows he's protected, cared for, and cherished. Nothing can hurt him when he's here. "Yeah, there's more. It's about the other day actually."

Steve wills himself not to tense up. "Yeah?"

"The kid, my client who told me he's in love with me, ugh, you know him, actually."

"I do?"

"It was that Maximoff kid. The dance teacher's brother. Ugh, y'know the one Mischka had a crush on."

Letting that information settle, Steve stares off into space, eyes directed out the bay window of the foyer while he tries to remember the name. "Pietro," he says and Bucky nods.

"It only lasted for a few weeks. We ran into each other at the gym one day, we got to talking, and eventually, he told me he'd had a crush on me," he starts, but smartly stays hidden to avoid the stare of evil Steve's sporting at nothing in particular. "I knew it was wrong, but I entertained him a little."

"Entertained him," Steve repeats. "How so?"

Shit. Here it goes.

"We would text, talk on the phone, um, do friendly things like that."

Steve tenses at the word 'friendly'.

"Sometimes on days when'd you would go into the office, he'd come over to the apartment and we'd hang out for hours until you got home. It wasn't anything like you think, I swear, but one day-"

Be cool, Rogers. "He made a pass at you?" He guesses and prepares for the worse.

Ashamed, Bucky pulls himself away from Steve and chokes back a sob at the hurt look on his face. "I, er, yes," he mumbles. "He kissed me. I kissed back. I stopped before we could do anything else...told him I could only do that kinda thing with him if I charged him like any other client."

As it comes out his mouth, Bucky only now realizes how stupid it sounds. The only way he could fuck Pietro is if he charged him? Yeah,right. He knows better than anyone that the money is just a pass to feel less guilty about doing the things he'd done with Pietro in those few weeks they were talking. Steve knows, too. Internally, he knows his boyfriend's attraction to Pietro was pretty strong and that the only thing really stopping him was not only the money, but his relationship with Steve. Bucky would've done it for free if he could've.

"H-he told me he was fine with paying for it if it meant we could still spend time together. I, ugh... I didn't think it meant anything b-b-but I took the kid's virginity."

He doesn't have a reason for keeping the truth at bay. He knows he should've told the kid the truth about he and Steve being together - it would've halted everything immediately. Pietro would've backed off with no issue. Bucky didn't, and deep within his subconscious, he unknowingly wanted to do what he did with Pietro without hurting anybody and that's why he kept seeing him along with not telling Steve.

He realizes he fucked up, and that the glare Steve's shooting his way is well deserved. Steve's never looked at him like this; only other time he did was that other morning.

"I'm not telling you this to hurt you," Bucky sniffles and wipes his face of tears he didn't know he was crying. "I meant to tell you that morning, b-but...um, I'm s-sorry. Stevie, I'm so sorry."

Steve doesn't say anything at first, partially because he doesn't know what to say or if he should. That temper could flare within a second, then they're right back where they'd started.

He turns his body forward, taking everything he's been told into moderation. For some reason, he doesn't wanna blow up - he wants to kiss away Bucky's tears, be thankful he has him, and that he's telling him the truth with sincerity unlike another who did it with a straight face and a sharp British accent.

Nothing would ever hurt as much as that did. Bucky knows that and resists flailing to his knees and kissing Steve's feet out of forgiveness.

"You..." Steve sighs, scrunching his eyebrows. "You slept with him? In your apartment?"

At that, Bucky full on explodes now with the ugliest crying face he could muster: snot drizzling down his nostrils, wet face scrunched and beet red, eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip trembling while he whines and sucks it in and out of his mouth in an attempt to breathe properly.

It's the first time Steve's ever seen him so genuinely, thoroughly, and undeniably wrecked and pitiful, their sex life aside. How is he still so beautiful? Who fucking knows. How beautiful he is doesn't take away what he did and how hurt Steve is.

"In m-m-my bed," he stutters out. "Our bed," he corrects himself and buries his head into his shaking hands.

"When did all this happen?"

"A-a-a-around the time you got your promotion. M-m-maybe before then. I can't really remember. Steve, please..."

"Do you, um, have feelings for him?" Steve asks carefully all the while trying to make sense of the details provided.

Bucky can't answer verbally, so he just shakes his head and sobs. It's a pathetically precious sight that tugs at Steve's heartstrings but before he can put an arm around Bucky to get him to calm down, he takes a breath and decides he's not so much angry as he is hurt and betrayed. Seeing as though it's safe to make contact, Steve puts an arm around Bucky and pulls him back into his embrace.

"Shhh, Bucky, don't cry," he coos into his boyfriend's crown, rubbing his back and kissing his hair. "No, no, no, baby, don't cry. Shhhh..."

That only makes the brunet cry harder and louder. He's clinging to Steve like a life raft adrift a stormy sea. It's understandable; he's heartbroken that he has to confess this to the love of his life after keeping it in for the few weeks he did. Steve doesn't know what to make of it, though.

Did Bucky technically cheat by getting a new friend that happened to develop a crush on him? Well, no - something similar is happening with Kate at the office; that's nothing to get mad at. Steve can't get too upset about Bucky finding Pietro attractive when he did, too. Obviously, it annoys him that Bucky didn't say anything about their relationship to avoid the situation. Bucky, knowing the kid liked him, could've had the decency to tell him he's taken - not doing so makes him appear pretty guilty in the end. He led Pietro on and so of course, the kid makes a pass at him.

The cynical twist in the pit of Steve's stomach resembling the stabbing of a knife's rusted blade is brought on by the realization that somewhere in Bucky was something that wanted Pietro in the way he wanted Steve. Not only was it unprofessional of Bucky to do what he'd done wth Pietro in their bed, but it was disrespectful.

It showed desperation.

Need.

Lust.

He wanted Pietro then and there in his apartment. He kissed him back before even telling him that he does sex work. By one financial tiny technicality, no actual infidelity occurred no matter how much it feels like it did.

It hurts, but seeing Bucky so torn apart and guilty about his actions somehow hurts more.

"I'm sorry," he whines, shaking his head even more, refusing to stop his tears even though he fights to obey Steve's pleads for him to relax. "I'm so sorry, Stevie. Please don't hate me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did this. I'm sorry. I love you."

"Bucky," Steve says gruffly from the back of his throat. His boyfriend whines out a unintelligible response that's too cute not to chuckle at. "Bucky," he tries again, and this time Bucky pulls away only to glance up bashfully at a long-faced Steve staring down at him like he's a puppy in need of scolding. "First things first, I don't hate you," Steve assures him and shakes the mere idea out of his head. "Don't you ever, ever, in your batty ass mind think I could ever hate you."

"But-"

"Don't interrupt me," Steve commands gruffly and shoots him a stern glare. "I couldn't ever hate you. I could try and try with all my might, but I can't. Please know that."

"You're mad at me," he assumes, meekly nudging Steve's chin with his nose like an attention starved pet.

Steve's pet.

That has a ring so nice to it that it gets Steve thinking.

Gathering up his notebook and taking Bucky's hand into his, he rises from the bench and nods his head towards the staircase. "C'mon. Got something I wanna give you."

Clearly confused as to why Steve's being this nice, Bucky hesitates cautiously, letting himself get led rather than following Steve up the stairs, down the hall, and into their bedroom. He braces himself for the worst - is Steve gonna hit him? Yell at him? Dump him? Uneasiness falls over him at the ridiculous thoughts but definite possibilities that Steve could do such a thing. That morning was pretty scary; who knows what Steve'll do to him now that he has a legitimate reason to get angry.

That uneasiness develops into downright nausea shooting straight to Bucky's stomach, turning it to a mess of whatever liquids floating around in there and doubt uncomfortably. That impulse to vomit is edging multiple times, but he wills his reflexes to relax and wait, and for some reason that gets him panicking even more.

Not only does he have to puke, but he's about to lose his boyfriend. Actually, said boyfriend is probably going to attempt to drown him in the bathtub like Xavier did once or slam him so hard into a wall a human sized dent in the drywall will shape out like Brock used to then break up with him.

Why are those images, those memories - so fucking vivid? He can see them - feels them. Every inch of skin not in contact with Steve is sprouting anxious goosebumps, setting all the hair on his arms at attention. He's either sweating or crying - he can't tell which. All he knows is that he wants to get this punishment over with so he can pass the hell out and maybe - hopefully- die in Steve's arms.

It's when they're in the privacy of their room does Bucky break his silence, wailing as he drops Steve's hand and stiffly pinning himself to the bedroom door in an attempt to be as far away from him as possible. He's crying again - he doesn't remember how it started - so much that Steve becomes just a blur of tanned skin and blond hair approaching him tentatively with his hands outstretched amid his crinkling eye sight.

"Bucky," he calls to him soothingly, but all Bucky can process are the bombs in his head going off, Brock, Xavier, Nat's passing...

It's all jumbled, like a fast forwarded montage in a tragic drama movie where the protagonist slowly declines into insanity brought upon by every mistake he's ever made. Everything's his fault- all of it! He let Brock hurt him. He let Xavier hurt him. He let Nat die...

Now Steve's gonna hurt him.

He's gonna hurt him worse than any of them; he's gonna hit him, punch him, kick him, slap him, and he won't even defend himself. He'll let Steve do it. He deserves it. He didn't mean to hurt his Stevie. All he cares about is his baby girl and his Stevie. Nothing else matters...Who else matters?

"Stop. Hey, shhhhh," Steve's on his knees now because somewhere in the middle of rambling all that aloud, Bucky sank to the floor, crouched in a defenseless ball, staring up at Steve's kind face in wonder.

"Wh-why aren't you hitting me? If you're gonna hit me, please do it now, sir," he begs helplessly, but Steve's searching his face worriedly, forcing their eyes to meet when he cages Bucky's head in his palms.

"No, baby, no..." He whispers reassuringly, peppering apologetic kisses all along his wet face. He's so gentle. So nice. Too nice. "No one is gonna hit you. I'm not gonna hit you. I'm not leaving you, and you're not leaving me."

"I-I-I cheated on you... I let someone else touch me...in our bed. P-punish me. Please." Bucky's croaking over his words, not even registering Steve's kisses since his face is so numb from crying so hard. He's confused. Why is this man not hurting him?

"Because I'm not them," he answers, even though Bucky's sure he didn't say anything that time. "Call it cheating or whatever, but just because you did what you did doesn't mean I have a right to hit you or punish you. That's not how relationships work, babe. Look at me, Bucky. Please?"

It doesn't stop his tears entirely, but because Steve sounds so endearingly desperate for him to stay connected, Bucky lifts his eyes from his own lap in the general direction in which Steve's kneeling since his vision's blurry and he's not sure where his eyes are.

"That's it. That's my good boy," Steve praises under his breath, brushing his thumbs over Bucky's hot cheeks to rid his face of tears. "It's okay, love. Look at me."

A few blinks send the remainder of the tears stuck in Bucky's eyes down his face, clearing his vision little by little till Steve becomes clear again.

He's hunched over Bucky, smiling warmly and petting his face gingerly like he would Mischka in the aftermath of a nightmare. Almost like he's protecting him.

Bucky sniffles.

"What's the matter, baby, huh? Tell me. You thought I was gonna put hands on my baby boy?"

Bucky sniffles again and nods. "I deserve it."

"No, you don't. Just because I'm feeling hurt about what happened doesn't mean I take it out on you like that. Is that why you're crying?"

"'M crying 'cus I hurt you. Again. I keep hurting you. I'm just like her."

The silence after that is tense and agitating. Steve's stumped as to what responds comes with a comparison like that when generally speaking, it's true but not true. No one and nothing could ever hurt Steve the way Peggy did.

Except Bucky.

"But you're not," Steve finally says, kissing him featherlight on the lips. "Because you're still here. You told me the truth even though it scared you. You didn't leave me."

"Could never leave you," the brunet mutters, taking one of Steve's hands in his metal one, cuddling it, and then adjusting the limb to be curved around one side of his neck. The act makes Bucky look so much younger and more precious than he usually does. That's my baby boy.

"Maybe at the time when you were with Pietro, you lost your way? Maybe I wasn't giving you what you need, being at the office all the time? Maybe you got jealous about Kate? I don't know - maybe I was subconsciously pushing you away? I know how sensitive you are and how much you need to be assured that you're mine."

"Yours," he parrots, sniffling again.

"Whatever the reason, you loved me enough to tell me the truth. That's something Peggy couldn't do. I'm sorry if I hurt you, and you felt like you need to get with someone else to get what I'm not giving you."

"I'm sorry."

"It's over now," Steve sighs. "And you're mine. Still mine. Always mine. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

Pleased with that response, Steve smirks and uses the hand on Bucky's neck to lurch the man forward and force his mouth open with tongue. An unprepared squeak turned moan emits from Bucky at the affection, but he goes along with kissing his man, expressing ever apology in him through every one of their lips ministrations. The kiss lasts about thirty seconds before Steve pulls away in the middle of Bucky wiggling his tongue on the inside of Steve's cheek.

"I came up here 'cus I really do have something to give you," he tells his now aroused boyfriend with a shy grin. "Sit on the bed for Sir and shut your eyes."

"Yes, sir," Bucky obliges, getting to his feet with Steve's help and wobbles over to the bed. He takes a seat at the edge and only watches Steve until he has his back turned to shuffle through the wardrobe.

"Been meaning to give this to you for a while," he's saying from across the room. "Didn't know if it'd be a hard limit for you or if you'd think it's degrading. Should've asked first; I didn't mean to assume, but I think you might like it."

"Sir," Bucky's breath hitches at the sound of approaching footsteps. His skin's prickling with anticipation, but he obeys orders given and keeps his eyes closed even as his brain is telling him to disobey to drink in Steve's presence before him. A moment or two passes before Bucky's body reacts to the closeness and he leans just the slightest bit forward to have his head on Steve's abdomen.

"Sir," he whines again pathetically even though Steve's right there. When did he become this desperate?

"Shh. No need to worry, love," Steve reminds him softly, lifting Bucky's head with one hand then leaning forward, too. Nothing else matter when he inhales Steve and a warm pool of comfort floods him, panic attack and Pietro long forgotten.

A clinking sound is heard and before Bucky can truly brace himself for whatever, a minuscule weight circles his neck, pressing lightly against his throat and tickling the curves leading up into his jaw. Steve latches the item at the nape of his neck, and Bucky can't control himself now when the clinking noise turns to a jingle. His eyes shoot open just to be face to face with Steve's gigantic trap muscle that he fights the instinct to bite.

Steve pulls away and doesn't even scold him for having his eyes open. The amount of adoration, pride and love washing over the blond's face is almost comical. If he were a cartoon, he'd have two, huge, hearts pumping out of his eye sockets.

"You're so beautiful. So mine," he says, playing with the trinket dangling from Bucky's Adam's apple. Bucky's flesh hand flies over Steve's to feel his boyfriend's skin on his, but then his eyebrows lower in confusion at the metal tag he feels as well.

His hand travels about and around his neck to make sure this is what he thinks it is before jumping up from the bed like it burned his ass to the bathroom. He's barely a centimeter away from the mirror before he gasps in what Steve can only hope is a positive shock.

The younger man inspects the gift with wide eyes, turning his head every which direction to see how it looks from each angle before whipping his head around at the sight of Steve behind him in the doorway.

Baby Boy, the heart shaped tag reads and that turns Bucky's legs to jello.

"You hate it," he concludes sadly, clearly embarrassed and ashamed he'd even thought of the idea of a collar. Bucky doesn't say anything as he looks back at himself and a shy smile takes over his frown from before.

Truthfully, Bucky's not sure how he feels.

No one's ever gotten him a collar before.

He's fantasized, no doubt, but now that it's actually happened, he can't comprehend the heavy feeling in his stomach. It's not nausea this time though; it's a pleasant weigh sitting there. It's warm.

It's every submissive's sweet dream come true to be claimed and he got his and more.

Being the submissive freak he is, he's elated that Steve thought of the idea of a collar all by himself - he was afraid if he'd mentioned a kinky thing like such would scare Steve but it's here. It's around his neck. It's his. And he's Steve's.

It means more than any promise ring or engagement ring ever could in his book. It's I love you and you're mine all at once. It's an unspoken bond. A symbol indicating Bucky belongs to only one person and that one person is his man, his Sir, his boyfriend, his husband, his fucking everything.

Reading the tag again, Bucky comes to grips that he can definitely love Steve more than he already does. "Sir," he mumbles and turns back around.

Steve's head jerks up.

"I love you."

Steve blushes. "Baby, c'mere..."

Doing as he's told, Bucky pads over to Steve and lets himself be taken into open, protective arms. "I love it."

"You're mine, Buck. Mine."

"I'm so sorry I doubted that," he whines into Steve's chest, but Steve shushes him again then kisses his head chastely.

The two of them couldn't have been standing there for long when Bucky pulls away reluctantly and brushes his face against Steve's. "Thank you."

Steve snuggles his face right back. "You're welcome." He pauses to study Bucky for a minute before narrowing his eyes at him and grimacing. "Don't you ever do something like that to me, you, or us again. If you're feeling like I'm not giving you what you need, tell me because you know I will take an entire year off work till you're comfortable with being without me during the day. Am I understood?"

He nods frantically, pouting his lip, presenting it to be bitten and Steve obliges. Caught with his flesh between his teeth, Steve growls, "Use your fucking words like the big boy I know you are. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir," he whimpers and pulls Steve into a desperate kiss, muttering "I love you," in between each breath they take when they pull apart.

Steve smiles into the kiss. "Party starts soon, so we're gonna take a shower now, okay? Get the water started, baby boy."

"Yes, sir."

After a quick, sloppy make out, Bucky pulls himself away giddily and his tag jingles his whole way over to the shower. He begins stripping himself before turning the crystal knob faucet, back completely facing Steve. The blond watches him adjust the temperature with a small grin, and pushes off the doorway to pick out an outfit for the party.

As he stands at the dresser, out of the corner of his eye near the door, he spots what appears to be a loose-leaf note folded on the floor. Face scrunched, perplexed, Steve shuts the drawer, picks the note up.

In pencil chicken scratch on one side of the square, Winnie is written.

This must've fallen out of Bucky's pocket when he broke down just now; this is his letter. His fear letter.

"Oh," Steve gasps and looks away from it like he'd be in trouble for just holding it. Immediately, temptation creeps in.

Even though Bucky'd expressed that if anyone besides he and the one it's addressed to reading it would be bad luck, he can't fight how powerful it feels having the note in his hands - like he held the key to all of the secrets Bucky refuses to tell Steve. It's dishonest, but it would be the first sneaky thing one has done behind the other's back.

Sneaking a glance behind him into the bathroom to assure Bucky's occupied, Steve unfolds the note and begins to read.

_Dear Winnie,_

_I'm afraid of losing Steve Rogers._

_You left before you got to meet him, but I'm sure you've seen him around since he's an angel. I'm head over heels in love with him, and I've never felt this genuinely about another person before. Before meeting him I was 100% sure the only other person I could willingly give my heart to was Natalia, but somehow, he's made his way in, and I don't want him out. This is real, and I know it is because it feels real. It's so stupid and cliche but the man has actually got me feeling butterflies in my stomach like I'm a teenager. He lives in the same building as me...that's kinda how we met. (We kinda share our apartments. It's like a 'what's mine is yours and what's yours is mine' kinda thing cus we live so damn close) I fell asleep before seeing Mischka off to an audition, and when I woke up, she was gone. Naturally I panicked, forgetting the audition, and tore the apartment up looking for her. I smoked a cigarette to calm myself down (I'm trying to quit, okay? Don't nag me) and began asking neighbors if they'd seen her and when he'd opened the door, my entire body went on lockdown. I couldn't move, Mom. I was frozen. He was -and still - is the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. I don't even know how I managed to speak._

_And he was so nice. He was perfect. Pretty sure I made a notorious ass of myself on our second date when I tried to fuck him in the middle of the damn movie theater_

_He's a born and bred Brooklynite - he's the old fashioned artist type with a record player who recently got promoted to manager of his division at work so I'm sort of fulfilling the dream you had for Becca to marry rich. :)_

_Stevie (a nickname his ex gave to him but it's mine now) treats me like a king, I do my best to do right by him. He's a nice kid with the patience of Job 'cus he sure does tolerate a lot of my bullshit. I'm nothing but mean, whiny, unappreciative and rude to him but somehow he sees past my shortcomings and shitty personality and stays with me regardless. My favorite thing about him is how nonjudgmental and forgiving he is. He accepts me in all my forms - I caught a cold this on our second anniversary, and he still took such good care of me and kissed me despite me warning him he'll catch a bug._

_Oh, and he's gorgeous. Did I say that already? He's just my type - taller than any building in Indiana, eyes like the ocean after a storm and the color of the sky (You should see his eyelashes), and a face as pretty as ever. His hair's soft and usually smells like some fancy shampoo; It's blond on top kinda fading to a light brown, but I can just tell it was probably yellow bright when he was a kid. And man... His body. It's art. I won't get too nasty with describing how I do so but I appreciate and worship every last inch and curve of him. He doesn't have any, but I've been thinking about getting matching tattoos for the new year since he's always wanted one. He hates how tiny his waist is and with his shoulders being as broad as they are, his torso kinda looks like a Dorito - but I've never seen a body so flawless. I love every part of it. I could worship that alone._

_The funny thing is that blond hair and blue eyes was never my type till I met him._

_He's perfect - don't know how many times I can tell ya that. I tried my best to not cry when I told him I loved him and he didn't say it back. It broke my heart because the reason he didn't say it back is because he's been so hurt before that he's afraid to give himself up to me. I ain't got no other way of showing him how much I care for him. (Unless I'm missing something?) I've been in love with this guy since the first time I kissed him at Natalia's. (yeah that long)_

_I'm afraid of losing him for so many reasons._

_I have literally nothing to offer him and one of these days, he'll wise up and realize that. He'll realize that dating a whore isn't worth it anymore, no matter how good the sex is. He'll realize he wants it the easy way by marrying a woman, conceiving with her, and getting the dream house in the suburbs just like he always wanted. I want that life with him, Winnie. I already have names picked out for our four kids - we're gonna have twin girls named Summer and Skye, maybe a boy named after me, him, or dad... I don't know but I do want (He likes the name Michael) another girl named Sarah after his mom or Josephine after his dad. We're gonna have two dogs: his golden retriever, Carter, and a German Shepherd named Sarge. Hopefully, I still be playing music by the time we're a bored married couple living in the suburbs so I can serenade them all to sleep every night. It seems pretty far fetched. I know that, but I want it. Dad always told me to go after want I wanted, right? But he didn't know I was a flaming homosexual war vet missing an arm, making his way through life sucking people off. There's no way in hell someone like me could ever end up happy with a guy like Steve. He's stuck with me this far, but he won't later. I know he won't. He's too good. He was holding me in bed last night, and I cried to myself as silently as I could because I was afraid that come the new year he won't want me anymore._

_We had a pretty bad fight some days ago._

_I said something I didn't know I should've (as I usually fucking do) and Winnie, he snapped. He lost his entire mind and the aftermath was pretty bad - he's got really bad anxiety and he lapsed into an attack. And as he was apologizing for how he treated me, I had this crazy idea that he needs me just as much as I need him. I feel foolish for believing that someone like Steve could ever want or need someone like me. He won't admit it now, but just bitter thought of it happening makes me wanna cry... I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do the day my baby boy leaves me. Winnie, it does more than scare me. I'm not gonna be able to survive if I can't feel his hands on me, his kiss on my lips, his skin on mine, his voice telling me I'll be okay. I know I'll never be fully okay, but when he says it, I believe it._

_I guess the closest thing he has to a downside is that he's still hung up on his ex. Remember when I said he'd been hurt before? Remember Peggy Carter? Seems like a match made in heaven, right? I don't know what she did to him, but it's scarred him. He hasn't told me he loves me because of her, and a part of me hates Peggy for selfish reasons while the other hates her for doing whatever she did. The silly part of all of it is that I'd wait my entire life to hear him just say it once. We could be married for 80+ years and if he only says it once in that entire time, I'd be satisfied._

_Jesus Christ... I've never been this scared. Never been this deep. I love him so much that I'm shaking as I write this. Like it hurts how much I need him. Winnie, what if he doesn't want me anymore?! Do you think you could have a talk with Aphrodite for me to make sure than never happens?_

_Anyway, I'm sorry for rambling, and I pray that wherever you are, you're enjoying the life you were deprived of down here. I love you. Becca, Wade and I miss you like hell. Tell George we say hello. Thanks for listening. Happy new year, Mom._

_\- James Buchanan a.k.a "Bucket"_

Upon reaching the end of the letter, Steve's on the verge of tears of his own, but they're surprisingly happy.

He folds it back the way he found it and turns swiftly to enter the bathroom. Naked, leaning on the glass door of the shower, Bucky tests the water temperature with flesh fingers, whistling as he does so. Steve gives his bare ass a hard slap on his way to the sink. With a giggle, Bucky yelps and turns the faucet a little to the left, mumbling something about him being a pervert under his breath. With his boy's attention drawn elsewhere, Steve sneaks the letter back into Bucky's pants back pocket laying on the tile and makes work of getting himself naked.


	22. 22

To say that Steve's sanity is on a gradual decline at the indecent thought of Bucky and Pietro since his partner had told him the truth is an understatement.

As much as Steve believes and trusts that it didn't mean a damn thing, he can't help just picturing those two kissing, exploring each other, wrestling about with vigor in a passionate fight to remove their clothes the same way he and Steve do, and it makes his blood boil. He can't pin-point _where_ his anger lies - obviously, he's sour with Bucky for letting it happen as well as himself for being so oblivious to what's happening in his home while he's at work more so how Bucky manages by himself in the middle of the day than the act itself of he and Pietro fucking.

It'd been two days since Bucky'd told him and in that forty-eight hour span of time, he's done everything in his power to forget he knows about it by sketching, listening to music, taking a swim and hiking, but none of it seems to work because every time he merely glances in Bucky's direction, he envisions that Maximoff kid kissing his baby boy and telling him he loves him. He'll never admit that Pietro saying it _before_ him makes him angrier than any other element of this situation.

To distract himself from it on their last night in paradise, he lessons the workload awaiting him when they get back to Brooklyn tomorrow afternoon by sending out assignments for his staff on his iPad between reading and answering e-mails. Working does him good so far, until he feels a crippling pain in his chest when he glances across the room at Bucky repacking his suitcase. His back is to him, so Steve takes the childish opportunity to stick his tongue out at him.

When Steve looks back down at his iPad screen, he sighs with a shake of his head. He has no idea what he's doing. It makes sense to leave Bucky because he cheated - plain and simple. This is no different than what Peggy had did; It feels no different.

Somehow, that's _not_ the right answer.

Steve _can't_ leave Bucky. It's _not_ possible; _that_ doesn't make sense. He can't find logic in treating Bucky how he did Peggy when she confessed to her infidelity.

Well, rather she was caught _then_ confessed.

In no way shape or form is this at all healthy, but at this point, Steve didn't care. He didn't care he had sunk this low for someone who hurt him like this; how much lower could he have gotten from before? In the grand scheme of things, maybe it's his fault?

_No, it's not,_ he tells himself.

_I know_, he says back.

Leave it to Steve Rogers to take blame for his boyfriend cheating on him. Steve sighs a second time, this time loud enough to grab Bucky's attention. The brunet turns from his suitcase perched on the dresser and eyes his man up and down with concern in his expression.

"You okay?" He asks carefully.

Instantly lying, Steve nods with a tight smile and lifts his iPad in the air. "Yeah, work just getting on my nerves."

Obviously Bucky knows he's lying, but instead nods in understanding and turns back to the task at hand, biting his lip nervously. Again, because of his careless, selfish behavior, the love of his life suffers on his hand.

All Bucky can think about since he'd told him is the second they're back in their apartment building in Brooklyn, Steve will leave and tear his heart in half the same way Bucky constantly does to him, deleting his number and everything, almost making it seem like Bucky'd never touched his life. He's so selfish - Steve's life was fucking fine before Bucky had to come along and fuck it up, refusing to let go when it's best for Steve to get back to what he'd established for himself prior to meeting him.

Steve could blatantly tell Bucky to get lost and he'd still fight for his place in Steve's life. What he's established with Steve is something one had to pry from his cold, dead flesh hand if they wanted it.

He has to fix it.

Desperation is what makes Bucky suddenly blurt out, "You're lying," causing the uncomfortable shift in the air instantly, and the second the words are out his mouth, he wishes he hadn't said them.

"Excuse me?"

Gulping, Bucky turns on his heels and leans on the dresser. "I can tell when you're lying, babe, and you're lying right now. You're _not_ okay."

Almost like he's offended, Steve's face scrunches up. He directs this look at Bucky who can only grin sheepishly and curse himself for what he's about to say.

"I know there ain't much I can do to make up for what happened with Pietro," he admits in disappointment, watching Steve's glare turn hard when he mentions the name. "But I wanna try and make it better. I just need something to do. Something to make it better? I don't know how to do that if I'm not told how. I-I'm sorry," he explains, fingers fidgeting nervously at the thoughts that had swarmed his head in the aftermath of telling Steve the whole truth.

Steve hesitates and stares at him through a minute of loud silence in consideration to what he said. As usual, he's submitting to a power Steve's got no idea what to do with it. It never crossed his mind as to what the fuck Bucky could do to make it better; the only thing to make it better is not doing it in the first place but that's impossible. Bucky's probably got the same idea which is why he's lost as to how to make it right.

Given their circumstances, Steve mulls it over in his head and puts his iPad to the side for Bucky to sit in front of him when he beckons him over with a curve in his index finger.

Among the lies circling Steve and Bucky's relationship, he can't help figuring that some need to be addressed before going back to Brooklyn and now's the perfect opportunity to nip them in the bud. When Steve gets the idea, he wants to puke - nothing but a fight will conjure from it but maybe that's just what they need right now? All they've ever done is hide truths and feelings, so this activity might help.

The thought Steve puts into this isn't very extensive but he opens his mouth anyway.

"We're gonna do something. It's a little wild, but when have we ever been anything but?"

"What are we trying?" Bucky asks excitedly, anxious to achieve forgiveness as soon as possible.

His mouth is open, but no sound comes out when he forced himself to speak. With a quick afterthought, all Steve can think is _fuck it_ and chuckles. "We're gonna sit down and write a list of the people we wanna fuck then share it with the other."

Judging by the drop in Bucky's face, that was the last thing he expected Steve to say. By the way his eyes widen and his breath is taken away in a low gasp, he can tell like Steve that nothing but trouble is going to come of this.

"Okay," he bites out, eyes cast low like the bedding will give him an answer before flicking back up to Steve. "How is this helping anything?"

_I don't think it is_, Steve wants to say but instead shrugs with a tiny smile. "It'll help stop that fairy tale notion that we only find each other attractive. That's apart of why you did what you did, is it not? 'Cus you're attracted to him."

Bucky glances to the bedding again and nods shamefully at Steve's lack of use for the past tense. He remembers that day they'd met the Maximoff kid: Steve's eyes were glued to Wanda while his were on Pietro. There's no denying it when they'd made it known to the other on the way home from dropping Mischka off.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles and surprisingly, Steve shakes his head with a _tsk, tsk_ and lifts him back up with a hand to his chin.

"Don't apologize anymore. We're doing this for us, okay? I'm not trying to shame you, baby boy."

At the nickname, Bucky melts and lets their eyes meet. "What are we gonna do after we share our lists?"

"We're gonna talk it through."

"Just a talk?"

"Just a talk."

"What if one of us gets angry?"

"_If_?" Steve says it as a joke, but nothing about it is funny.

It's not as awkward as Steve or Bucky thought it'd be as they go on their respective devices and type out their lists on opposite corners of the room. It's silent majority of the fifteen minutes the process takes except for the occasional question like "Do celebrities count?" to which the response is "Yes, Bucky. _Everyone_ you want to fuck."

Bucky announces he's done before Steve. It's not till he thinks of this being a bad idea when he goes through his list and swallows hard at the names he's put down - some of them are more so confirmed suspicions than just people Steve would like to have sex with, but that's the whole point. Not only is it putting everything on the table, but it's insight. It's something Bucky won't admit to wanting to know even though he's anxious to see what names are on Steve's lists. He'll commend Steve for thinking of this.

"You sure you wanna see this?" Bucky asks to be sure, reviewing his list a few more times and even thinks to delete some names but decides against it.

"I do and don't," he admits. "Think of this as a breakthrough."

Bucky stands from the sofa in the bedroom and plops onto the bed before Steve. "Here," he says, handing him his phone in exchange for Steve's iPad and mutters an expletive under his breath when he begins reading the list.

_Darcy_

_Ms. Wanda_

_Pietro Maximoff_

_That cute barista with the eyebrow piercing at the coffee shop near the apartment_

_Riley (that guy that comes to VA with Sam sometimes)_

_Ian (Darcy's ex-boyfriend)_

_Sebastian Stan_

_James Dean_

_Meg from Hercules_

_Lillian (college girl who lives below us with a lip piercing)_

_Angie (waitress at the diner Sam and I go to)_

_Scarlett Johansson_

Bucky reads the list four more times to assure he has all the names correctly. Some are a shock, others are relatable - it's really nothing to get mad about despite the fact that majority of people on the list are attainable. When he finally does look up, Steve's n odding to himself and rereading his as well.

"So?" He says first, impatient.

"Well, I can't say I'm _surprised_ by your list."

"Wish I could say the same about yours."

Steve rolls his eyes sideways and out the window to stare at nothing but the sea at night. "You can't be that surprised."

"You wanna sleep with _Pietro_? Even after-"

Steve cuts him off immediately. "Yes, even after," he bites out. "It's a _fuck_ list. That's it, that's all. Purely _physical_."

Quirking an eyebrow upward, Bucky nods in understanding but refuses to let Steve think he's gotten the better of him. "Wish I could say I'm surprised about Darcy, but I called that months ago. Is that purely physical, too, given she's your 'friend' and all?"

Bucky's got him there. If it did come down to something like that, he'd been lying if he said that he wanted nothing but a strictly sexual relationship with Darcy. For as long as he's been crushing on her, it's impossible not to look like a hypocrite and give Bucky the answer he wants.

"Okay, yeah, fine. I have no shame in admitting that in the years after Peggy left I developed a minor crush on Darcy."

A beacon of some slight satisfaction flashes in Bucky's eyes at that and he grins smugly. "'Bout time you said so."

With another eye roll, Steve grimaces. "There's a reason I never acted on my feelings."

"Too shy or too scared?"

"Was waiting on you." Like the little shit he is, the blond winks and shoots him a smile that melts Bucky's insides and gets that shit eating expression to disappear. "Is that the answer you want?"

The internal battle is evident in Bucky's expression on whether he should answer that or not. He ignores it and swallows hard. "If you did have the opportunity to be with Darcy the way you are with me, would you take it?"

The delivery of the question is delicate and worded in a way that Steve interprets in more ways than one. He sighs and thinks about how his answer might sound when he says it in his head.

"That's not up to me, Buck," he starts, shrugging. "Darcy's not really into me-"

"That's a lie, and you know that. S'not what I asked either. If it were up to you and you wanted her, would you take that chance to be with her? Not as a hookup but as your legitimate girlfriend?"

"Why does Darcy in particular make you wanna ask this?"

"I think I have my answer by how you keep dancing around giving me a yes or no."

Steve groans aloud and shakes his head at him. "No, you don't have your answer," he protests, frustrated. If he's already this fiery, no chance they'll not make a breakthrough at some point in the conversation. "I never said yes or no."

"Yeah, well, don't you think beating around the bush is a dumb way of discreetly telling me that you would be with Darcy if given the opportunity?" Bucky bites back, arms crossing over his chest in an annoyed, defensive stance.

"Why would you wanna know that anyway?"

"Is this not supposed to be a break through? Is this not your idea of having an honesty hour? Don't pussy out when I actually wanna get honest with you," he enunciates his words harshly at Steve, putting emphasis on certain words to further prove his point. "Yes or no: would you wanna be with Darcy if, God forbid, you and I weren't together anymore?"

Admitting he's beat, he nods and looks away at the passing look of satisfaction on Bucky's face at the reveal. Even in this hour, he's still subconsciously harboring his feelings for the sake of Bucky's. "Your turn to answer my question: is there a reason as to _why_ you get so insecure when it comes to Darcy and I?"

"_Insecure_?" Bucky shoots the word back at Steve like it was static to his ears to hear and poison to his mouth to say. "I'm only insecure 'cus _you_ make me that way."

"_Me_?" Steve asks incredulously, pointing to himself. "How do _I_ make _you_ insecure? Especially when it comes to Darcy?"

Head on a tilt and glaring at Steve like he's the village idiot, Bucky scoffs and bends his neck to the other side. "Do you really think I could ever get over how faithfully you grabbed her ass on Halloween when there are a _million_ other courses of action to take when it comes to dumb cat callers? And to do that _in front of my kid_? What the hell, Steve! You were pretty enthusiastic to show those assholes who she belonged to for _what_? So they'd leave us alone? Yeah, right - it was the prime opportunity for you to do what you've been wanting to do since you probably laid eyes on her. And I'm supposed to take that? _Forgive you_?

"Then next thing I know she's crying and you're comforting her, kissing on her and holding her how you hold me like the good '_friend_'," Bucky uses air quotes at that," you claim to be and then turn around and look at me like I'm fucking crazy when _I_ start crying about it like you don't know how easily jealous I get and that if you give someone a damn fraction of the affection you give me, I'll lose myself and get even more upset because I'll panic and think that you want someone else," his voice softens at the end of that statement, like the thought alone cripples his enthusiasm on the subject at hand.

Shaking his head through it, he continues. "You take these little slick opportunities to treat Darcy like she's your girl, only prompting me to believe you want her and the only thing from stopping you from having her is me. Don't you think that'd make someone like me insecure?"

The messed up part is that he hadn't thought that far into it. Biting his lip, he lowers his head to avoid the crushed look on his boy's face and apologizes softy. "I'm sorry, baby. I, ugh, didn't know you took everything with her so to heart-"

"It's not _just_ _her_. It's with every female that lays eyes on you. Why do you think I was acting like such a jackass when I found Peggy's number that time or met your assistant? You don't see what I see - girls look at you like you like the sun shines out of your ass and it's scary to think one day you'll see that your boyfriend is broken and it'll be easier to be with one of these girls who would gladly put a bullet in my temple to have you."

"I don't know how to stop that, Bucky. There's nothing I can do to make them not see me one way or another. I _am_ sorry for hurting you and making you feel like how I do when it comes to other people. There's never gonna be a day where I'll say l don't want you - broken or not. Cus you're mine, regardless of whatever woman or even man has to say about it," he means that more than anything he'll ever say. He leans in to peck the corner of Bucky's frown, managing it to dissipate. "And don't think that just because I'd get with Darcy means I will. If I'm living in a world without you, free to do that, I'd be a lot more concerned with why you're not here with me rather than who I can date when I don't have you. I do apologize, baby. I am sorry for it."

Bucky watches Steve with hard eyes, tears glistening on the surface but grins and returns the affection with a kiss to Steve's forehead. "Sorry?" He repeats meekly as though the word means the world to him.

"Sorry," he repeats and kisses his lips this time. "Am I forgiven?"

Bucky hesitates. "Yes, babe. I love you."

With a weak smile in return, Steve ducks his head to kiss him again. "You know how you were saying that how I am with Darcy makes you insecure?"

"Yes?"

"I didn't really wanna bring this up because you said you're quitting, but-" Steve cuts himself off to mentally construct his sentence in a way that won't upset Bucky. Given the subject matter, it's inevitable that it will.

"I-" he stares off at Bucky and it's written all over his face that he's painfully aware of what's next. "I don't think it's fair that you get jealous and crazy about Kate, Peggy, Darcy or any other female I involve myself with when it's almost a nightly basis when you leave to be with some other guy," he barely finishes before Bucky's face is reddening and his expression is hardening.

"It's not fair that whenever I do show my feelings about not liking what you do, you tell me it means nothing and that it's all business, basically putting my feelings on a back burner then doing it again the next night only to come home for me to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. Do you think I enjoy laying in bed by myself, knowing you're out doing what you do and then having to see you so broken when you get home 'cus some asshole doesn't know how to treat you or you feel guilty about letting someone else touch you? It's not fair. I'd say it's downright hypocritical of you. I don't give a fuck if it is your job or not. You think _you're_ insecure? How do you think _I_ feel?"

The blond hadn't intended to sound as furious as he felt, but it comes out anyway. Bucky's absorbing his words respectfully, but it doesn't mean he agrees.

"You knew what it was when we decided to get together," he reminds Steve, mumbling grumpily and crossing his arms across his chest in defense. "You had every chance to say no to us being a couple when I told you the truth. Don't make it seem like I trapped you."

"Oh, get real, Buck - you really think that by that point in our relationship I was gonna give up finding someone who wanted me after being single as long as I was? I was well on my way to falling for you when you'd told me and you know damn well I would've said anything to get you to be mine. I had no chance."

"Yes, you did. You could've walked away."

"I could've and then what? We're just friends? After all we'd been through up until that point? Fuck that," Steve growls, skin prickling at the idea. "Don't make it seem like I made the wrong decision in wanting to be with you when you use what Brock did to you as an excuse to keep doing this."

By mentioning Brock, Steve knows he's stepping into dangerous territory and he's almost taking that last statement back before reminding himself again that they're not taking any of this back with them to Brooklyn.

"_Are you fucking serious?_ Are you legitimately using _that_ against me?" Bucky huffs loudly and narrows his eyes to daggers at what just came from his boyfriend's mouth.

"I'm not using anything against you," Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I'm telling you how it is and what I see it as. I'm having a hard time believing that the prostituting was solely for the money when you're so fucking talented and qualified to get any legal job you wanted. You're a grown man, babe! You're not under him or anybody else anymore! Clearly, there's an element to fucking people for money that you enjoy if you've been doing it _this_ long and you only felt it necessary to quit when some kid thinks he's in love with you."

"He was only a part of it," Bucky corrects him curtly. "I'm quitting because of _my daughter_ and _you_. I can't keep hurting you guys. Fuck, Steve, I didn't mean to make it seem like I did that because I enjoy it. It was easy, paid bills, everything. Now I will be honest and say every once in a while, it'd feel good but not good enough to hurt you the way I was - the way I am. I apologize for making you feel that way, but it's over with and you don't have anything else to worry about involving the sex work anymore. " His tone has lightened and in so, made Steve loosen up again. "I'm sorry, baby."

Bucky's expression and tone are sincere, almost innocent, and it's hurting Steve that he'd waited so long to share his feelings. It hurts that Bucky's more than present with the plausible reality of Steve turning him away about his work.

"And before you ask, I've been on a job hunt. A _legal_ job hunt. Been looking for a while, but not too many good paying jobs take you in if you've got a metal arm, " he adds bitterly, glancing back at Steve. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," he says immediately. "Just been holding that in since you told me about the sex work, and it feels good to have it off my chest even if it still hurts to think about you with some guy touching you how I do."

Those bushy eyebrows of Bucky's turn upward in the middle, causing him to resemble a sad puppy. "I'm sorry. You know no one's better than you. Nobody. You know I love you, your face, your body, your everything more than anybody else. None of those guys are you. Don't - _please don't_ \- think I'd ever choose them over you."

As these sentiments spill from his mouth, Bucky climbs halfway into Steve's lap to cup his face and kiss his face passionately wherever his lips wander in between muttered apologies and reassurances that Steve's his only one. After maybe a thousand butterfly kisses are peppered onto his head and face, Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's waist and hugs him close. When he inhales, his nostrils revel in Bucky's natural scent and it gets his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He loves this man so much. "It's okay, Buck. I know you wouldn't."

"It's not okay," he protests. "But it's true. I'm in love with you and I sometimes think that you don't say it back is because I put you in this position where it's hard to believe that I do love you. I am sorry."

It rings true. Steve knows he's loved and that Bucky's heart is genuine no matter how unorthodox the conventions of showing it are.

"Just letting you know, I've forgiven you a million times and you don't have to keep apologizing," Steve says. "Just wanted you to know that I've never been mad at you for the decisions you've made about us or anything involving what you used to do."

"I could say the same about you," Bucky agrees. "We all can't be as holy as Captain America," he teases lightly, kissing him chastely while Steve's chest rumbles with a chuckles.

"The Captain? Yes. Steve Rogers still needs some work."

Taking that as an easy getaway from the subject, Bucky nods to himself, scoots out of Steve's lap, and twirls a lock of hair between metal fingers. "I'm not surprised to see Wanda's on here," he says when he looks back down at the list.

"Well, she's pretty hot," he elaborates with an easy shrug. "Cute in the face, nice body, winning personality. Accent is pretty sexy, too. It's not hard to see why you wanted to be around Pietro so much."

For the sake of keeping it light, Bucky forces a smile but it falls miserably and his eyes keep glistening wetly. "Yeah, I guess," he replies shortly.

"He was a good friend, yeah?"

Almost like he's afraid to answer, Bucky eyes Steve wearily but all he's met with a friendly smile and eyes that aren't judging him. "Yeah, he was."

"Why'd you hide you guys's relationship from me?"

Unprepared, Bucky sniffles and shakes his head without a clue. It didn't make sense to hide it from Steve when it started off as something so innocent like gym buddies. Maybe he knew it would develop into more?

"Did you think I'd be mad?" Steve prompts, babying his voice to avoid sounding angrier than he really is.

The hair Bucky is playing with falls from his hands when he shakes his head. "I didn't think at all. I just did. I wasn't trying to be sneaky. It just happened, our friendship, and when he told me how he'd been crushing on me, I don't know why I didn't say anything to him about you or to you about him. I just-" he pauses and blinks passed a thought. "I don't know - I didn't think you'd be mad, but, um, I suppose I ain't say anything is because it felt special as a secret."

Steve's face scrunches in confusion. "Why?"

"For starters, you guys have oddly similar personality quirks. The kind that attracted me to you when we first met - being with him when you were at work felt like how it was when we first began dating, having you to myself and barely anyone knowing about us. We were just living in this bubble where we're so pressed to get to know each other better and as some time went on, it felt like we weren't those people anymore. With Pietro," he pauses again to check the calm look on Steve's face. "It felt familiar. I liked it."

With a nod, Steve gestures for Bucky to continue.

"At the time, it was nice having someone to look forward to seeing when I couldn't have you around. It was nice having a relationship like that so close just for me to know about."

Steve lets that process and evaluates what he can of it. "Like when we first met?"

"Yeah," he says under his breath. "I missed it. I didn't know I missed it till he told me he had a crush on me."

"And you didn't think I'd understand?"

"I didn't think you'd _care_," he corrects him, regarding the hurt that passes over Steve's eyes and wrinkles his forehead. "I didn't think it'd matter all that much to you if I was feeling lonely in the middle of the day without you since you seemed so wrapped up and content with dealing with the promotion and -"

"Is that why?" Steve interrupts incredulously. "You didn't think I'd care because of my promotion?"

"I didn't wanna bother you," he admits. "It didn't seem significant enough to mention at the time when me feeling lonely is something you have to deal with when you come home anyway. And I know that doesn't justify anything I did, but more than anything, I need you to know that it's not a reflection on you or how you treat me. It was me. I fucked up."

Even as Bucky explains, it doesn't make Steve's heart hurt any less. The only thing he can think to be gracious about the situation is that Bucky's still here and he's not going anywhere unlike other people.

"How many times did you sleep together? Or rather, how many times did he, ugh, request you, I should say?"

Bucky thinks and counts in his head. "Including the time in the apartment," he begins and frowns at the outcome. "Five. Would've been six that day if he hadn't told me he was in love with me." The shame in his tone is evident and Steve can tell this is the last conversation he wants to have, but it needs to be had.

"You better have worn a condom, Bucky," Steve mutters, hanging his head._ Five times._

"I did. He insisted anyway," Bucky assures him quickly and his heart aches for the man before him. "It's okay if you wanna ask more questions about it. You deserve to know."

That's all the confirmation Steve needs to keep going without hesitation. "What'd you say after he told you he was in love with you?"

Looking to the ceiling for recollection, Bucky twists his mouth about in thought then sneers. "I remember being so flustered. I outright said_ 'don't be'_ when he said, word for word, _'James, I'm in love with you.'_ He was pretty taken back and tried to get me to stay so we could talk, but I just apologized and told him to very politely lose my number."

"Did it hurt?"

"Well, obviously it hurts to lose a friend. I felt guilt for days after when the last thing I saw of him was this very confused and very hurt look on his face, looking at me like his whole world came crumbling down for no reason."

As cowardly as it was of Bucky, it was bound to happen, and the kid at least deserves an explanation especially under the false pretenses that Bucky is single. Steve sympathizes and wants to allow Bucky to see Pietro one last time to clear everything up, but he doesn't want them anywhere near each other either.

"Can I keep asking questions?"

Bucky nods hesitantly. "Yeah."

"How big was he?" He asks bluntly, holding in a laugh at how perplexed Bucky becomes. "His dick bigger than mine?"

"Does that really matter?"

"You said I could keep asking questions."

"Yeah, but c'mon, Steve, that's private stuff. Like really personal-"

"So, that could either mean he's hung as fuck or he's an inch worm," Steve replies condescendingly, scoffing like it doesn't bother him not to know.

"Why does it even matter? I fucked him. He didn't fuck me," Bucky blurts out, vulgar in context and vicious in tone until he catches Steve's face falling at the openness of that statement. "I'm sorry," he says as an after thought and scoffs, too. "It's not really relevant and I think I'd be violating the kid's trust if I told you exact inches, but just know he's not as big as you. Is that what you wanna hear?"

"Is it the truth?"

"Yes, it is. You're bigger, Steve," he repeats , sounding amused and fighting a big smile at just the mere idea of his boyfriend's penis.

It momentarily has Steve feelings victorious until he remembers that he's more than likely not the biggest Bucky's ever had - that's a conversation for later. "And you meant to tell me all of this that morning," he clarifies and sighs. "We still haven't talked about how you felt. Would you like to now?"

Bucky is reluctant to answer initially, and Steve understands why. He remembers Bucky telling him that he's tired of crying about what Steve had said, and it's easy to sympathize.

"Baby, it's okay if you don't," Steve assures sweetly, massaging his boy's flesh hand between tense fingers. "I'm not gonna force you, but it's best to now, though."

With a sole shoulder shrug, Bucky turns a cheek to Steve and eyes still focused on the ground below. He's never looked so pensive and unsure in his life, and it keeps hurting Steve's soul that he can't do anything about it.

"It's just, y'know," he starts and shakes his head. "It _hurt_. It _still_ hurts that you said what you did about me manipulating you into saying you love me when you know how much I love you and that I'm willing to wait to hear it when you're ready," he continues tightly, sniffling tears that haven't fallen yet. "Just the fact that you think I was trying to hurt you hurts me." His voice is cracking, but he's guarding himself tactfully. "I get that you said it in the heat of the moment, but it was traumatizing. I have nightmares about never hearing it and when you yelled that at me, it felt like my nightmares were coming true. Or that I was talking to Brock or Xavier."

That hurt the hardest, but Steve nods anyway and sighs to himself, head hung in shame at the reminder of his behavior.

"You turned into an entirely different person that morning," he goes on and intertwines their fingers. "You weren't _my_ Stevie. And I get that you had the right to be upset, but I didn't know you'd get _that_ mean about Peggy. It was scary, but I know why you got how you did."

Steve lifts his head for him to continue.

"You're still angry at her. Discussing it with her didn't help and it infuriates you that even after you told her how you felt, what she did still happened, and Gabe and Mikayla are just painful reminders," Bucky points out, low in his throat, scared of how Steve'll react to being told the bitter truth about himself. "Until you speak the truth about what happened with her with me, your current partner, it's gonna keep hurting. You're holding onto her, and for whatever reason, you're obsessed with keeping it to yourself like it's some secret and you're embarrassed that it happened.

He hates how right Bucky is. He nods.

"It's okay that you still love her. I get it," he suddenly declares, caressing gentle metal knuckles over Steve's rosy cheeks. "It's understandable - I imagine it's hard getting over someone like Peggy. And since we're being honest, I occasionally find myself getting upset about Xavier not loving me back. It hurts from time to time and the teenager in me may still love him. It's not that I'm accusing you. Just letting you know that I know.

"But back to that morning - I didn't think you'd get _so_ angry. I thought about that day I first met you and tried to figure out how - in the few seconds you were yelling at me - _that_ man and the one before me were the same. I'm not looking for an apology. I know how sorry you are - the second you said it, you were there to comfort me, on the verge of breaking down your damn self at the way you treated me. Even though it hurt, I still felt safe in your arms to just cry my eyes out even though you're the one who put the tears there. Even as my heart was breaking, I knew that there was no one else on earth to heal me but you," he finishes, saying that last part shyly but he's unashamed at realizing how dependent he is.

Steve takes the testimony in moderation, fully aware, responsible, and willing to admit his wrongs all the while trying to make them right. With a nod, he subtly rest his face into Bucky's warm metal hand gingerly rubbing him and exhales.

"I-I don't know what to say to that," he admits finally but Bucky just smiles.

"You don't have to say anything because I already know you're gonna apologize. We're just talking right now, okay?"

"Yeah," he replies, relief washing over him when he sees that Bucky's still not sore with him. "Since we are airing everything out, I wanted to ask you..."

"Yes, doll?"

It's burning at the tip of Steve's tongue, and he's anxious to touch on the subject of Natasha, but he can't count on Bucky reacting accordingly since not only was the woman his wife but his best friend and the mother of his child. He's usually nonchalant when speaking of Natasha, but that doesn't ease Steve's nerves when he remembers his boyfriend became a full on alcoholic in the wake of her death.

"Been doing some thinking back on our past and the conversations we've had," he starts cautiously. "When we first met and I asked you about Natasha, you said she _agreed_ to marry you." He remembers it clearly. "That morning, you told me her family forced you guys to get married. What happened?"

Exhaling, Bucky rolls his eyes with disdain all the while sarcastically smiling with what can be assumed is harsh memories.

"It was a no strings attached type of experience - she needed someone in the physical way and trusted me to help her out. I was still figuring things out, thinking I could maybe force a bisexual lifestyle onto myself to please my mom's side of the family. It's not like being with her grossed me out or anything, so us being like that together happened pretty often," he explains, his smile finally turning fond.

"When she got pregnant, we were scared. Just one of those things where we weren't careful, and her highly traditional, psychotic family was already under the impression that we were dating, so when we had told them, they immediately assumed we'd be getting married. After explaining the situation that we were in, I remember her mother went ballistic and ended up going crazy, hitting me - or at least trying to - with the frying pan she was cooking on at that time - then she started swinging at Natasha's stomach like she was trying to kill the baby," his voice cracks, but he remains calm.

"Jesus, Bucky..."

"I stopped her with the arm, and Drakov, her father, got a few hits in on me before screaming at specifically me to either get rid of the baby or get married. We'd never considered abortion, and we didn't wanna risk what her parents would do if we went unwed another day. A week later, Natasha and I went to the court house and got legally married. Mischka was born that following July."

"And Nat passed that December," Steve fills in the timeline and Bucky nods.

"So, that's what happened. It is what it is. Natasha's parents are still alive, never met the kid and they never will. I'll die before that happens," Bucky announces with conviction. "When their only damn daughter died, they had the audacity to show up to the funeral just to try and take Mischka as if I'd ever let her endure that kind of abuse."

"I'm so sorry, Bucky," Steve can't help apologizing even when it's the last thing Bucky needs. "I only wanted to know because not knowing bothered me. It kinda has to do with why I was so mopey on Christmas."

The side of Bucky's eyes wrinkle when he narrows them at Steve. "About Natasha?"

"I've been hiding it, but I feel guilty. Whenever I get too comfortable about being in you and the kid's life, I feel like I'm not where I should be because you guys _technically_ belong to Natasha." He really can't believe he's actually saying any of this. In moments, his body will catch up with his brain and an anxiety attack will emerge. "I feel like I'm imposing on the family she's created. Like it's not meant for me. Like it was a mistake for me to find you because it's not fair that Natasha's not here."

For multiple moments, Bucky stares at Steve in silence, digesting everything he'd said and reviewing it before he dignifies it with a response. It's a long few moments because after a while, Steve can't figure out if he was breathing or not till Bucky finally talks.

"With everything you tell me, I can't help going back to Peggy," his tone comes out condescending even though it's not directed at Steve, "and how badly she hurt you. Did she do so much when she left that you feel guilty for being _happy_?"

Steve is speechless, having never thought of it like that. "I-"

"No, listen to me," he demands, putting a metal index finger to his lips, silencing him. "Her passing wasn't anyone's fault. Being happy with me doesn't mean it's _your_ fault. You're not imposing on anything since the three of us were barely a family even when Nat was alive, okay?" He confesses, grunting through the cracks in his voice. "Nat and I had issues and just 'cus we had a baby _didn't_ make us a family. We would've ended up divorcing regardless because we never wanted to marry each other. I was never in love with Nat the way I am with you. Please keep in mind that she wasn't gonna be my endgame regardless of whether she'd still be here or not. Whatever guilt you feel, let it go, love. It's dragging you down - _we_ are _your_ family. You're part of us. _You're ours_, okay? Just because Peggy did what she did doesn't mean you have to feel guilty about loving me."

Reassurance washes over Steve in overwhelming droves that finally get his tense frame to falter and his tears to pour like waves being kept at bay by a damn. Instinctively, Bucky's arms are circling around Steve's upper body, pulling him close and kissing his head as it rests on his chest.

The large man shivers and shakes, making disgruntled, pained noises out of despair when it all dawns on him clear as day. He's so angry. He's _furious_; but he can't find it in him to let it go. He can't just stop feeling guilty for Natasha's passing and assuming her role in the remaining Barnes's lives. He can't just close the door on Peggy when it all hurts so much just to remember when he and she moved into that apartment...

"She hurt me _so badly_," he whines, drenching Bucky's chest and clenching onto the younger man desperately, nails digging right into his skin. "_Fuck_. B-B-Bucky, it's not fair..."

"I know, _baby boy_," he mutters, twiddling the short hairs at the base of Steve's neck between his finger tips, kissing wherever his lips can reach. "None of it is ever fair. I'm here. I got you. Not letting you go."

"I didn't mean to take Natasha's place..."

"_Shhh_, I know," Bucky soothes encouragingly, rocking them back and forth in efforts to calm his emotional boyfriend down. "It's alright. Nat would think you're doing a good job of taking care of us."

"Not fair..."

"No, baby, it's not. Doesn't mean it's your fault."

His body jerks and continues to shake in minute convulsions accompanied by hiding into the crevices of Bucky's body for comfort and safety since it hurts too much to just keep his head up. In the most understanding and generous way possible, Bucky cradles him like the baby he is, kissing where he can, whispering reassuring thoughts that subtly get Steve's eyes to cry harder and his lungs to heave harder with attempts to breathe properly. He feels so out of control of himself that he wouldn't be surprised if his body just decided die in these moments being held by a man who loves him enough to point out that his last relationship was so toxic - edging on the border of downright abusive - that it's left him with the mindset that happiness isn't appropriate. It's fucked him up so much that he believes Natasha's death is his fault and that he shouldn't be here with Bucky as though he were meant to be with her all along.

It's even more fucked up that he couldn't see it before.

Upon digesting this, he whimpers and weeps helplessly into Bucky, putting so much weight on him that he lays them down flat on the bed. His hands are stroking his taut muscles loose again while he gradually comes down from where he was moments ago. His shed tears are drying while the ones still leaking from his expressive eyes pour out less and less.

"It's okay, Stevie. I got you. I love you. You're okay," Bucky telling him quietly. "It's okay it still hurts."

"I wanna tell you so badly," Steve admits, wiping his face carelessly on Bucky's shirt. "I'm sorry," he whispers in a voice that allows him to sound young and vulnerable as hell. He's snuggling further into Bucky for purchase, nose mushed against the hard pectoral of Bucky's chest. "We can keep talking if you'd like."

"You already know what I'm gonna ask you. We can leave it alone for now," Bucky sighs and reaches around Steve to grab the iPad. "Let's see about the rest of these names, huh? Um," he hums and reads the names again. "Darcy's ex?"

"He has a nice butt."

"I guess. Riley?"

"Also has a nice butt," Steve snickers.

Bucky's eyes roll when he scrolls down the page with his index finger. "To be fair, you already kinda have fucked Meg from Hercules," he teases, pinching Steve's damp cheek and emitting a muffled laugh from his boyfriend. "Lillian's a cute girl- seems like your type. Sebastian Stan?"

"You two bare a striking resemblance."

"Scarlett Johansson?"

"Another one to the nice butt list. Now instead of analyzing my list, let's have a look at yours," Steve says, digging underneath their bodies for Bucky's phone and then unlocking it to see his list. "Marlon Brando," he reads the first name he sees.

"Circa 1950's cus he reminds me of you."

"I think Sam told me that once. You have Riley on here, too."

"His ass is pretty nice, I'll admit," he says jokingly while pinching Steve again. "I think whatever you were trying to achieve with this fuck list thing worked. Feels really good to have this stuff off of my chest."

"There's nothing else you wanna tell me? Something else you wanna discuss before we leave tomorrow?" Steve sniffles.

It's silent for a maximum of thirty seconds before Bucky sucks his teeth and easily says, "I just love you so much, babe."

Steve melts. _I love you, too._ "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

For once since declaring those words to Steve, it doesn't sting Bucky in the chest as much when he doesn't say it back. It could be worse where Steve doesn't feel the same at all and in turn not saying it, whereas right now, he's just afraid of admitting it.

It's heartbreaking and simple all at the same time.

A top of Bucky, Steve has begun caressing Bucky's sides and mouthing on his earlobe suggestively, getting his partner to hum with pleasure and let his hips tilt upward in the slightest so that their crotches align to grind. Before either can help it, their kisses are mouth to mouth, smooth with saliva and emitting moans for more. It's not feverish or rushed - it's sensual and actually very sweet.

In an instant, both men are erect and to Steve's shock, Bucky eases away only slightly to look square into his baby blue eyes. "Um, do we have to, _um_-? Y'know? Can we just kiss right now? Not really feeling like-"

Steve gingerly kisses his chin then nods and whispers, "Of course. Whatever you want."

Despite their flight the next day, Steve and Bucky go on to the early hours of the morning kissing and touching each other like it's the last time they'd ever do so. The pangs of guilt Steve had once felt for doing so dissipate with all their other worries, and for once, Steve's anxiety isn't convincing him he's in the wrong.

Bucky's still whispering about how much he loves him and all Steve can do is believe it and sigh peacefully as they watch the sun rise in the sky.

Easily the hardest part of leaving paradise the following afternoon is realizing that they're going back to reality after two weeks of - _mostly_ \- bliss. None of it became real until they cleaned the mansion, put the Christmas decorations back in the basement, and packing their belongings. On the yacht ride back to the mainland, it was difficult to not look back to watch the island get smaller and smaller the farther they went until it became a speck of land floating in the middle of the ocean.

Wade and Becca depart from Steve, Bucky, and Mischka at their terminal with promises to meet again soon. With the blindfold on and the plane quiet, Steve slept soundly on Bucky's shoulder the entire two hours till landing and taking a cab back to Brooklyn.

"Home sweet home," Steve grumbles when he enter his own apartment and sighs at the size comparison from where he'd been that morning and now. He truly had been living his life in a box, and it's an eye opener that he only had to go two hours from home to realize that.

Before he can think to unpack or get to sleep, he has to get his dog back.

Seconds after dumping his luggage at the door, his phone is to his ear, ringing as he awaits for Darcy to pick up.

"I take it you're back?" is the first thing out her mouth. "Welcome home, soldier," she chirps cheerfully when the call connects, and the grin forming on his face is instantaneous. "How was the Bahamas?"

"Magical," he blurts out the first adjective he can think of. "Got myself a nice tan and probably gained a thousand pounds with how much I ate."

"Sounds like you had fun," she agrees and exhales. "I'm guessing this means me and the pup's time is up?" Her voice drops, wavering on genuine sadness at the thought of departing from the animal, and Steve can't stop himself from saying, "You can keep her for one more night if you'd like. I can come and get her in the morning."

"Oh, really, Steve?" She brightens again and he can practically imagine the woman dancing around her kitchen with his Carter on her heels. "Thanks, man!"

"Yeah, yeah," he groans in mock boredom and pretends to appear annoyed when his cheeks are actually flushing at how happy she is. "Just don't kill my dog, alright, kid?"

"_Kid_?" She huffs. "Being eight years younger than you hardly makes me a kid, _grandpa_."

"Okay, you got me there," he mutters and rolls his suitcase down the hall to the washing machine and dryer. "Hey, I'm gonna do some laundry now. I'll call you tomorrow and tell you all about the trip. Sound good?"

"Sounds good."

"Bye, Darce."

"Bye, asshole."

She hangs up first and when he tucks his phone back into his pocket, he feels something else caress against his fingertips and when he tugs, the dog chain necklace Bucky'd given him stares back at him. He'd forgotten he'd put it back in his jeans when going through airport security.

Smiling fondly, he puts it over his head and adjusts it accordingly, presenting facing outward, before starting his machine and dumping all his clothes in.

* * *

"Did you have fun on vacation?" is the first thing Kate asks Steve when he shows up in the office the following Monday morning with a tan and a smile as white and bright as the snow falling to the Manhattan ground below.

"Had a great time," he says, sipping his coffee from his personalized mug with the American flag printed on it and gesturing for her to follow him to his office. She does so with poise and with ease, keeping up with him even in her tremendously tall heels. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," she tells him, stacks of files tucked under her arm. "My sister and I visited my parents in Jersey, but there's nothing much of that except constant heckling from all sides of the family on why I'm twenty- something and still single."

"You have a sister?" He asks, unlocking his office and letting her in first before shutting it behind them. "Older or younger?"

She sets the files on his desk and twirls back to him. "Twins, actually. Well, she's older by like ten minutes, but that's details, right? Her name's Sharon."

At that name, Steve stops emptying his messenger bag onto his desk and shoots a longing glance in her direction. The familiarity of her face and that name click instantly; "_Sharon_!" He exclaims, remembering that night at Hydra perfectly. "I knew I'd seen your face somewhere before."

"What?" She says, eyebrow to her hairline at the outburst.

"I briefly met your sister some months ago at this club," he starts, grateful that he'd finally figured out why Kate seemed so familiar. "Some asshole was giving her a hard time, so I kinda pretended to be her boyfriend so he'd leave her alone."

"Oh, so _you're_ Steve the Great," she chuckles, knowingly. "Shar told me about that and kept badgering me about how nice guys are going extinct. Thanks, by the way. You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, it's nothing-"

"No, really," she interrupts before he can be modest, sitting at the edge of his desk, and taping her long nails on the surface, creating a clicking noise throughout the office space. "That must've drove your boyfriend crazy with him being the jealous type."

"Is it that obvious?" Steve laughs and sits in his chair, moving his mouse to awaken the computer and the screensaver photo of a sleeping Mischka fills the screen.

"I'm not totally oblivious despite always having my nose in a sketch, Steve," she pokes a little fun and shrugs. "I already know your guy isn't too fond of me. If the dirty looks didn't tell me so, then him calling me every other 'K' name in the book besides the on my name plate surely did."

_Bucky is such a dick_. Steve pictures it all and groans with an eye roll. "I apologize for him," he musters with enough sincerity for he and Bucky. That's gonna earn him a nasty spanking when he gets home.

"No need to apologize. It's understandable; you're a total catch, Steve. I'd be the same way if I had someone like you," she confesses with a shrug and narrows her glare at him. "I just wonder."

"What?"

"It's a little inappropriate," she squeals childishly with a shake of her head and the red pigmented on her round cheeks. "It's- no, never mind. I'm babbling."

"More inappropriate than me having sex on my first day as manager in my office with my boyfriend?" He recalls happily, envisioning it perfectly as if it were happening before him as he rests back in his office chair. "Try me, Kate."

The deliberation to resume is brewing on her face in a mix of confused and stubborn expressions till she shrugs in defeat and leans forward to keep it between them.

"What's it's like being openly bisexual and being in a homosexual relationship?"

Overtly taken by the surprise, Steve sits up in his chair and lowers his voice as well. "How'd you know I was bisexual and not _just gay_?"

"Well, part of it was assumption seeing as though you very openly ogle Darcy when she's wearing something tight," she points out and his face heats up sheepishly at the mention of his conspicuousness. "The other part was she told me you used to be engaged to a woman seven years ago."

"Eight," he swiftly corrects her out of instinct. "But, um, it's true. I do identify as bisexual. Why do you ask?"

Kate exhales like she'll say something but instead twiddles her thumbs in circles and casts her expressive eyes in every corner of the room except Steve's face, clearly shy about the subject matter despite having brought it up. Like a schoolgirl, she appears so innocent and inexperienced with having adult conversation because if she were, she wouldn't be turning redder than before and biting her lip so nervously.

"_Oh_." It clicks instantly. "Oh. You're not out of the closet yet."

"I hate that term," she groans childishly and her head hangs forward to have her face fall in her hand to hide from Steve's ecstatic stare.

"How long?" he asks, leaning back again and opening his work emails on the desktop.

"Discovered I was bi in eighth grade after a game of spin-the-bottle at an all girls sleepover and have been sheltered ever since," she answers, crossing her arms and getting comfortable at the edge of his desk. "My parents are so far up Jesus's ass, they can see out his mouth so you can imagine why. I only ask because you make it look so easy - you're so confident when it comes to being out and being in a relationship with a guy."

_A truly amazing guy_, he wants to add but skims through emails with a grin. "Well, I'm confident with being out because I'm surrounded by accepting people who love me regardless, y'know? I accept myself. I'm happy with being out and being in a same sex relationship because I know it's what I want and I'm with the guy I want. That's God's honest truth regardless of any homophobic bigot that can't understand. You thinking of telling your parents?"

She shudders after what is probably a glimpse into her future and shakes her head. "Hell to the _no_. I have my eye on a certain brunette receptionist who broke up with her boyfriend back in October."

"You've got the hots for Darcy?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Fair point," he chuckles and closes his email to open his digital art software. "I don't think Darcy is a player for that team, though."

Kate stands from her seat and only rolls her eyes in acceptance. "I figured as much. It's still nice to look," she says with a wink at him before twirling gracefully to the door then turning her head back to shoot him an appreciative smile. "Thanks for the talk, Steve."

"No biggie."

"It kinda is," she mutters and takes a step through the threshold before adding on, "That stack is the February edition story line panels for Bird Bros," and pointing to the files she'd brought with her. "Oh, and Mr. Stark called before you arrived to let you know he's sending heated carpet samples for you to look at."

"Duly noted. Thank you."

"Anything else you need before I get started on some work?"

He thinks for a moment and when nothing comes to mind, he shakes his head and sends her on her way before getting some work of his own done.

Several story lines for his upcoming panel, a lunch with Darcy, and four hours later, Steve's FaceTiming Bucky in between a sketch on his software and deciding a color for his carpet. The call connects after two rings and Bucky's face pops up on his cellphone screen.

"How's my working man?" he asks Steve, barely looking at the screen. Steve takes a glance to see he's not in the apartment or the bar but what looks like a grocery store with earphones in and a careless bun at the base of his neck.

"Working man's happy he gets off in four hours and twenty minutes so he can see his baby boy."

"You'd think after spending two weeks with me on a private island you'd be tired of me," Bucky mentions, monotone and almost sarcastic.

Steve scoffs; the last thing he needs is another reminder that they left paradise almost a week ago and he's still not over being back in the States along with being in a new year. "Yeah, 'cus it's not like us living ten feet away from each other is any different."

That gets a huff out of Bucky. "How's work going?"

"Kinda boring. If I read one more story line from my staff about The Black Widow getting with one of the Bird Bros, I'll die. It's unnecessary."

"Well, Valentine's Day is next month. They need a juicy love story." Bucky stops to browse in an aisle, reading label on bread while Steve's eyes roll out of his head.

"Yeah, but it doesn't have to heterosexual. Or romantic. Nothing wrong with two bros having a dinner in their apartment to appreciate all their heroic accomplishments on the day of love." Steve erases a mistake on his computer and sighs at how dumb that sounded. Bucky catches on and laughs.

"Yeah, and after that dinner they could platonically fuck each other in the ass. Y'know - _just bro things_. Right, bro?"

"Shut it up," Steve quips, but Bucky only laughs louder and puts the bread back on the shelf. "You getting stuff for dinner? What are we having?"

"Actually, no," he answers with dread lacing his tone and displeasure wrinkling his eyebrows and forehead. "I'm shopping for food that'll occupy seven six year old girls for one night."

Steve lifts his phone off of his desk to prop it against his desktop, and Bucky's eyes brighten at the sight of him although he's still frowning.

"What are you talking about?" He asks him and that earns him a tired snarl.

"I, like an idiot, forgot that it's Mischka's turn to host the sleepover for the junior dance team tonight, so here I am at the grocery store buying candy, sweets, and other unhealthy shit athletes their age aren't supposed to eat that'll more than likely keep them up all night," he explains and tosses a random box of cookies into the cart he's pushing.

"A sleepover on a Monday?"

"The schools closed for the rest of the week for some renovation. All the other dance moms thought this was a perfect time to do it, so here I am."

"Wow, don't get sound so excited," Steve attempts at a smile but all Bucky serves is an eyebrow wiggle of dissatisfaction. Truthfully it - having a team of little girls running around the apartment all night-does sound like a nightmare, so Bucky can't be blamed for being hesitant in wanting to host. Without thinking about it, Steve pitches his idea.

"I could help you."

"How?" Bucky's tone is almost accusing.

"We could have it at my place," he suggests. "You have too many knick-knacks and stuff in your apartment that could end up broken or something dealing with seven little girls that aren't your daughter. 'Sides, my place is a little bigger and the kids can sleep in Mischka's fake bedroom since it's a queen size bed versus the twin in you guy's apartment."

Bucky is silent as he lulls over the proposal and twists his mouth in deliberation. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course. It wouldn't be fair for you to be so outnumbered like that if the extra hands are able to help."_ And plus, I love you._

Still considering it, Bucky puts some more treats into the cart and Steve keeps at his drawing, neutral-faced to avoid showing the quietness is irking him.

"Okay, I guess that could work," Bucky agrees a minute later with a tone that's a lot less hostile than before. "You're sure, babe? It's a bit much."

"I'm sure, Buck. It won't kill me."

* * *

It doesn't kill Steve when he arrives home from work to go the extra mile to spruce up his apartment and childproof it with tucking away all his valuables like Sarah's picture at his desk, his laptop, hanging photos or mirrors on the wall, knives, and alcohol in the pantry. He even blocks off his bedroom with Carter inside by setting the coffee table from the living room in front of it before he begins to empty the snacks into bowls on the dining room table.

"Thanks again, Stevie," Bucky says for the umpteenth time in the midst of kissing Steve's temple and sneaking a cookie into his own pocket. "I really appreciate you helping me out."

"Anything for you, my beloved James," he answers and takes the cookie back before plopping it into his own mouth. Before Bucky can complain, Mischka rushes out of her room in a chartreuse, comically cartoon-like bunny rabbit onesie equipped with floppy ears and a puffball as a tail, smile fading when she catches sight of their apparel.

"Why don't you guys have on your jammies for the party?" It's a genuine question.

"Well, doll, I didn't really know you wanted us in our pajamas," Bucky admits, leaning on the dining table to get another cookie that Steve also steals. "We can go change now. No one's here yet."

As far as ridiculous pajamas go, all Bucky and Steve had to choose from were whimsical Peanuts pajama pants and bunny slippers. Although the pants fit his waist, he decided to rock the bunny slippers - since he and Bucky wear the same shoe size - with a pair of Bucky's joggers and a sweatshirt over his wife beater.

"Bunnies suit you," Bucky teases, coming up behind him and kissing his earlobe sloppily. "Thanks..._again_. You're highly appreciated."

He nods and fills his face with more snacks before there's a gentle knock on the door. "Let the fun begin," he mutters and follows behind Bucky to the door.

Initially, Steve expected that it'd be seven little girls and Mischka to conclude the party, yet to he and Bucky's surprise, a lone seven year old _boy_ with shaggy light brown hair covering his youthful features wearing pajamas decorated with blue and red cartoon spiders arrives with his guardian, clutching his overnight bag so tight that his already pale knuckles are turning white.

He's lingering behind an older woman with a silver bun rested at the nape of her neck and a warm smile for Bucky and Steve when they answer the door.

"Hi, are you the Barnes's?" She asks sweetly, making Bucky snicker at the assumption.

"Yeah, you're here for the sleepover?" Steve says, widening the door to allow her in. The older woman and the little boy step in and before they can get introduced, Mischka appears from the down the hall to greet her guests.

"_Peter_!" She exclaims and accosts the kid with a hug and he's turning red at the contact, hugging her back. "Daddy, this is Peter and his Aunt May. Miss Parker, this is my daddy. His name is Bucky, " she says proudly when she lets the boy - Peter - go then points to Steve. "And that's Stevie."

The woman - Aunt May - chuckles and pats Mischka's cheek endearingly in a manner that most elderly woman in fairy tale movies do to princesses. "It's nice to formally meet your fathers, dear," she says and turns to address the men. "Peter's been so excited about this for the longest time. I certainly can't imagine why he's gotten so shy all of a sudden."

Peter's brown eyes cast upward in wonder like looking at skyscrapers when Bucky and Steve cock their heads around Aunt May to meet his stare. "Is that right, kiddo? Excited?" Bucky says to him as playfully as he can and in all honesty, it's unusual to see Bucky interact with a child that's not his.

The question goes unanswered when Peter hides back behind Aunt May and he only visibly relaxes when Mischka intertwines their fingers to pull him out of his spot to face Bucky and Steve. "Peter's a little nervous because he's gonna be the only boy at the sleepover," Mischka explains coolly and doesn't even blink when Bucky flashes her a look. Steve knows _that_ look - she's in for quite a talk later, but it'd be ridiculous to say he can't stay when he's already here just because he's male.

"Well, there's no need to worry, Peter. You're not the _only_ boy. You've got Stevie and I in case the girls bore you too much," Bucky tells the child, crouching to his level to assume a less intimidating stance. "Does that sound okay?"

His response follows a quick glance in Mischka's direction granted with a nod. "Yes, Mr. Barnes."

"You can call me Bucky," he allows and gestures up to Steve. "And this is my partner - you can call him Steve or Stevie, if you'd like. Is this your first sleepover?"

"It's my first time spending the night at someone else's house," he barely whispers, exposing himself more with his head facing the floor, staring at it like he wished it swallowed him whole. It's flat out adorable and impossible to not wanna try and make him feel better.

"You a little scared?" Steve asks now. Peter nods.

"Well, like I said, there's no need to worry. You're among friends here, okay? And plus, I like your jammie's better than anyone else's and they're not even here yet," Bucky jokes with a poke to Peter's chest, eliciting a smile and a tiny chuckle from him.

"I like spiders," he says.

"Do you? I have a few camped out in my bathroom I'd love for you to see," Bucky continues to tease and as the little boy laughs again, finally looking up at Bucky instead of his feet, his Aunt May's shoulders relax and releases a sigh of relief.

"I think he's gonna do just fine," Steve says between the woman and himself on the way to walking her out after she and her nephew bid each other farewell. She looks back at him and Bucky deep in conversation that must be intriguing enough for Mischka to stay and listen to.

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes." Her smile is genuine and appreciative and in turn, Steve gives her a welcoming grin back.

"No problem, Mrs. Parker." He opens the door to allow her through and before she turns to leave, she pats his shoulder generously.

"It's been hard getting him to interact and be friendly since his uncle passed a while back," she admits, watching him from her stance at the doorway. "Your daughter was nice enough to invite him when he told her the news since he doesn't really acquire a lot of friends to do so on account of him being extremely shy."

Steve glances at the trio and sighs. He swears Mischka is an angel on earth. "Sounds like my girl," he agrees. "We'll make him feel as welcome as possible. Any allergies or nightly routines we need to know of?"

"No allergies and he usually falls asleep with a story or a lullaby, but I don't think that'll be necessary," she informs him, only ever meeting his eyes when she's not focused on Peter. "Please, call if there's any trouble. Peter has my number."

"I sure will, Mrs. Parker."

"Call me May, Steve," the woman insists, patting his cheek in the fashion she had Mischka. Her palm is warm. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

The dynamic between Mischka and Peter is balanced perfectly with Mischka being the extrovert of the two while Peter remains reserved and quiet as more guests show up throughout the evening. It's endearing; Bucky can't help but be proud of how well-liked and friendly his baby girl is. He's much too distracted and consumed with watching her excited friends bounce around with anticipation for the night ahead to notice the knock on the door which had to be the last guest of the arriving. Steve rises from his lean on the wall to answer the door, and just as swiftly as his smile appears, it vanishes when on the other side stands Peggy with a manicured hand on her daughter's shoulder.

"_Peggy_," he squeaks, gripping the door knob to the point of it slightly denting under pressure. "H-hey."

"_Steve_," she exhales knowingly, fully aware of the awkwardness unfolding. Mikayla glances between the two obliviously and her huge brown eyes land on Steve for a lingering moment as though she recognized him or at least is trying to. Not meeting her familiar eyes, he clears his throat and gulps a lump of saliva.

"Here for the sleepover?" He questions foolishly - _why else would they be here, Rogers?_ \- "Come on in," he continues, easing to the side to allow them in and closes the door. A grimace is expected of Peggy, but the British woman smiles as genuinely as she can, indicating no signs of distress despite standing in the same apartment she left Steve in all those years ago.

"Um, I didn't know that, um, Mikayla's on the dance team," he utters uncomfortably, unsure if he should be referring to Peggy or the child.

Peggy says something before her daughter can. "Mimi thought it'd be a nice gesture to invite Mickey since they've been friends for the longest time."

"Oh. How nice," he hums and gestures Mikayla to the living room where the source of the commotion is. "The other girls and Peter are in their with your Uncle Bucky."

"Okay," she says politely and tilts on her toes to kiss Peggy's cheek in a goodbye. "Bye, Mommy. Thank you, Mr. Rogers." Retrieving her overnight bag from Peggy, she flashes him a grin on her way to join the party that is meant to calm him but instead makes his heart ache.

He pretends not to notice it and doesn't make an effort to speak first to Peggy. They're definitely passed being this awkward about their relationship, but when they're right back where it all ended and standing in the same spot they did when they saw each other for the last time in years, it's bound to bring up some memories. Peggy seems so out of place and unfitting within this setting - like she wasn't meant to be here - even though she helped build the home it once was.

The tension wears on her expression when she finally frowns and blinks up at Steve. "This place hasn't changed, I suppose," she notices aloud.

"Mischka's bedroom is down that way," he tells her, pointing to what once was a nursery painted pink with a crib and stuffed animals piled high. "Kitchen's been upgraded with Stark Tech, I have a dog, and half of Bucky's closet is my own. There's been _some_ change."

Their pictures are no longer on the wall now either, but he'll let her notice that on her own. Her eyebrow quirk as though to say _touché_. "I see. How was the Bahamas?" She almost sounds genuinely curious.

"Lots of fun, actually."_ Despite being on the verge of an anxiety attack half the time._ "Bucky got me a nifty little piece of jewelry for Christmas," he states proudly and pulls the dog chain from under his shirt to present it to her. Peggy reads it with focus and nods approvingly.

"How was your holiday?"

"It was glorious," she says this cheerfully at first but her face drops the continuation is bad news and only stops in hesitation with her words.

Steve sees it before she can hide it. "Just glorious?" He chuckles lightheartedly and then presses on. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing wrong at all. Over holiday, I just got some good news."

"Care to share?"

Peggy sighs and it's so uncharacteristic to see her fidget. "I'm pregnant."

There's a tense silence between them in the front room, shenanigans in the living room muted by what feels like gallons of blood laced with adrenaline rushing to Steve's ears, face, neck, and chest. His chest hollows out which probably means his heart has thumped into his stomach.

Externally, he plays it cool and ignores how he can't breathe by just not saying anything and letting Peggy stand there looking disturbed yet all knowing of what she just said is the last thing Steve wanted to hear.

"Oh, hi, Pegs," Bucky greets out of the midst of Steve's restricted hearing. He doesn't sound enthused or even remotely happy to see her as he usually would've prior to meeting Steve, but he plays nice long enough to hug her and rub her shoulder. As much as it would benefit Steve and Peggy to look away when Bucky's facing the opposite way, neither can. Their eyes are locked like the one has the other stuck in a trance.

It's bringing back_ so many memories_ \- It was in this apartment where she told him she was pregnant the first time; it was in _this_ very spot when she told him the baby wasn't his.

_Get out. Get out. Just leave. Please get out so I can crumble in peace, please._

Steve doesn't recall any of the exchange between Bucky and Peggy as he walks her out. He understands the gestures and faked smiles and it's when she's finally through the threshold and the door is shut do his knees buckle and he falls forward towards the wall.

"_Shit_," Bucky hisses and catches him with a metal arm around his waist effortlessly before he can fully collapse and collide with the wall. "Okay, Steve, hold on," he instructs and eases his man into the adjacent hallway leading to his room so he can suffer privately.

With no strength in him to stand, he sinks to the floor till his bottom meets the hardwood. Bucky is now crouching on his knees before him, rubbing his face to wipe the building beads of sweats away while he silently shushes him given that Steve is whimpering and inhaling harsher than normal.

"Hey, _look at me_," Bucky's instructing him with a stern yet understanding tone of voice, handling his chin so his head won't tilt. "Stevie, look at me. Steve, baby, can you look at me?"

His eyes swim in such a dizzy fashion, more than likely searching for a gaze to meet amidst the tears collecting.

"Gimme a second, okay? I'm gonna get the kids into Mischka's bedroom so we can talk."

At that, Steve nods and immediately feels the loss of his boyfriend's presence within his entire aura. "Come back," he whispers even though Bucky's disappeared. "_Please_..."

As promised, Bucky escorts all the children into Mischka's bedroom calmly, smiling politely at them all and straggling behind the group to block any view of Steve at the opposite side of the hall. An oblivious Mischka follows Bucky's strict order in assuring that no one leaves the room until instructed.

"Hey, honey," Bucky's voice is nearby and relaxing enough to put an animal to sleep, downright heavenly to hear when Steve's mind is racing as fast as it is. "Stevie, baby, it's okay. You're having an anxiety attack, but we're gonna be okay. Just need you to look at me."

With all his might, Steve's baby blue eyes meet Bucky's willingly and they stay there, eliciting a smile from both of them. "Good, baby. What did she do to you," Bucky's asking once he's before Steve again, coddling his head with his flesh hand while the other massages circles in his back. "Tell me right now."

Steve knows what he means. To hold off that story just a little while longer, he mutters "She's pregnant" pathetically, shaking his head and burying himself in Bucky when it takes too much energy to keep eye contact.

"I know," Bucky sighs sadly for him. "She told me when we got back to Brooklyn."

"Then she brings _her_," he cries bitterly, pointing to the bedroom door in reference to Mikayla. "That was supposed to be my baby girl. _That_ was _her_ nursery, and she probably doesn't even remember..."

That silences Bucky for a moment. Putting everything into perspective, his heart breaks for Steve and guilt consumes him for ever wondering why this apartment was so cripplingly safe for his boyfriend.

"Do you think you could tell me?" He mumbles, kissing his temple.

It'll hurt like hell to revisit it all, but enough is enough. He can't keep letting Peggy break him like this even eight years later. "Yeah," he croaks, cursing himself for remembering everything as vividly and painfully as though it'd happen just yesterday.

"Start whenever you'd like," Bucky encourages, never loosening his grip or letting go.

Now is as good time as any, so Steve inhales sharply and braces himself to time travel back to the lowest, darkest, most depressing stage of his life: 2007.

* * *

Of all the times that Steve has been nervous in his twenty-four year long life, he can pinpoint the three major times he's been ready to sweat his weight off from anxiety:

The first time was when he entered high school as a ninety pound asthmatic with enough bodily issues to make someone wonder why he even bothers leaving the house who had just started growth hormones and medicine.

The second was when he'd come out as bisexual to his family the night before leaving off to summer camp. That was hectic enough without Sam being goofy as hell the entire time trying to lighten the mood when really he all but irritated Steve. He's grateful for it now.

The third most memorable time was when he'd enlisted for the Army. No explanation needed.

However, _this_ moment is the one that trumps all other anxious moments. They all pale in comparison to what the hell Steve is planning to do, and he wishes someone would talk him out of it before he makes a fool of himself in front of Peggy. He wants to do this more than anything but Steve's the master at goofing on the simplest task like asking his girlfriend to marry him.

He'd probably rehearsed it what feels like a million times with Sam, and because Sam's a jackass who won't spare a moment of joking to appease Steve's seriousness, he'd worn a ratty wig he'd found in his mom's attic to 'help him get into character' as he put it and every time Steve got on one knee to practice popping the question, all he could imagine is Mrs. Wilson with a goatee.

Tonight's their anniversary. The ring feels like it weighs a ton in his pocket as he paces back and forth in the dining room as he knit picks and every other detail of the fish filet dinner displayed on the dining table. Everything has to be perfect; when you're as lucky to have a woman like Peggy Carter to call your girl, nothing less than perfect is acceptable. She'd love it regardless because she loves Steve, but the impression made on the proposal is what sets the tone for the marriage itself.

_Holy shit,_ he wants to _marry her._ Steve is actually ready to get married and call himself a husband and later on, a father. Obviously it won't all happen at once. Getting through the proposal and not dying is the first step.

At eight o' clock on the dot, Peggy strides into the apartment, calling out Steve's name in her chipper accent. "In here," he calls and exhales, heart prepared to leap out of his chest from how hard and fast it's beating.

"Hi, darling," she starts and enters the dining room, shutting right up at the sight of the dimmed ceiling lights, the aroma of Steve's cooking, the instrumental smooth jazz filling the room on the record player, and her boyfriend standing behind a dining table chair.

Her surprised brown eyes twinkle under the glimmer of the candles, awestruck and turning rosy at the set up.

"Happy anniversary, baby," he says cheekily, walking over to her and assisting her in removing her pea coat and draping it over her chair. "How was work?" he's asking in between peppering kisses on her crown and securing her in close with his arms locked in front of her chest.

She smirks and nudges her head to the side to allow his head to rest on her exposed neck. "It was crazy as always. Everyone in the office drove me crazy, and all I wanted to do was come home to take a nap with my Stevie and enjoy my anniversary with a takeaway pizza and a corny horror film."

"Oh, you had to have known I had _something_ up my sleeve, Peg," he sings into her ear suggestively, nibbling on the lobe. She giggles, reacting with nudging him off and turns to face him in his arms.

"I must say this is a pleasant surprise, darling," she admits and hugs him, resting her head right on his chest. "Happy anniversary."

Steve wonders if she can hear his heart. She probably can but doesn't mention it.

"Happy anniversary, babe," he whispers and brings her face to his with two fingers and kisses the lipstick right off of her lips. She tastes heavenly; he can get used to a life full of this.

When they release each other's hold, Steve pulls out a chair for her and has a seat diagonally to her. They eat, talk, share, laugh like it's any other dinner and not the most monumental moment in their relationship. When they'd finish eating, the ring seems to weigh heavier and his heart begins to sink.

Maybe this is a mistake. What if she declines; he doesn't think she would, but it the act of asking that has him nervous and sweating through his palms.

Somehow none of those things matter when he looks from his empty plate up at Peggy who's fixing her makeup in her pocket mirror. She's the finest dame Brooklyn's ever showed him in his whole life. There's no way he can live the rest of his life without her. It's impossible thinking Steve will ever be complete without Peggy Carter by his side.

"Can I ask you something?" He blurts out, and she momentarily glances at him before putting her mirror away.

"Go ahead."

Inhaling sharply, Steve stares at her, expecting, basking in her glow and grace, truly blessed that this woman is all his. "I love you."

"Not necessarily a question, but -"

"I know, but I'm telling you because it sets up the question."

She wiggles her thick eyebrows at him. "Okay?"

Pushing his chair back and rising from his seat, Steve takes Peggy's left hand in his before kneeling before her and retrieving the suede jewelry box from his pocket. Peggy's frozen in place, jaw hanging, eyebrows raised, and eyes shining.

"I remember when I first saw you studying in the library of NYU," he remembers it perfectly. "You were ready to pull your hair out from finals which stopped me from asking you out initially. If it wasn't finals, it was you being apart of the exchange program because I didn't see the point in pursuing you when you'd be leaving at the end of the semester. Then when I found out that you were staying, I had to make you mine. I had to talk to you at least once before graduation before I let go of the chance to be something more than just some awkward stranger to you."

"_Stevie_," she's whispering, on the verge of happy tears now.

He continues. "I'm glad I took that chance with you. I'm glad I walked up to you and all of your friends and asked you to go to the museum with me. I'm glad I got a concussion that day from falling on the steps before even getting inside the damn building. I'm glad you stuck with my ass this long through the army stuff and understanding me being gone so often because I couldn't have done any of this without you, Peg. I love you."

Sarah's wedding ring glints in the light of the candles when he opens the box. "_Oh_," she squeaks at the ring and her eyes flash back and forth from the jewelry to Steve.

"Margaret Carter, would you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Margaret Rogers?" he gulps it out, and grins sheepishly when Peggy nods and falls into his embrace when he's back to his feet.

"_Yes, yes, yes, yes,_" she chants, clinging to him like she can't ever let go. "Yes, Stevie, _yes_!"

The weight finally dissipates from his shoulders when he slips the ring onto her finger and cages her head in his hands to kiss her passionately. The salt of her tears leaks into the mixture of lipstick and saliva, but he didn't care.

He's marrying the woman of his dreams.

Steve felt silly asking since he already knows the answer, but it's in his charming nature to ask Sam to be his Best Man. Peggy immediately called her sister and asked if she'd be her Maid of Honor. Only three months after getting engaged did they decide on a venue, and another three months later did Steve hand his credit card to Peggy for the day so she can buy a wedding and reception dress.

Initially, he'd been stressing out over it until he's seen the undeniably grateful look on Peggy's face when she had come home from the dress shop with the dresses in hand.

Eight months after the engagement is when Peggy had gotten her promotion at the middle school she works at from office receptionist to guidance counselor. The stress from helping those kids with their issues along with trying to plan an entire wedding took a toll on her, and he comforted her at night when she fussed about how it was all getting to be too much. He did his best in comforting since he'd received some job opportunities of his own at S.H.I.E.L.D by getting appointing to construct his own comic with a deadline for a rough draft landing around the time they'd planned to marry.

Without meaning to, he began to spend a lot of long nights at the office, focused solely on his art and letting Peggy deal with he planning.

That didn't sit well with Peggy. Arguments ensued. Love-making followed.

Maybe a week after booking a caterer is when they had the fight of all fights. Steve had promised to be home by six that night to help Peggy with the seating arrangements seeing as though they had about sixty guest attending and he didn't end up leaving the office till nine.

It was infuriating at first to get yelled at by Peggy of all people about something so trivial, but he let the situation rest and swore to do better. He never expected her to get so mad, but in the planning times after he was present and a significant help. Even if he was sour with Peggy for accusing him of putting his work before their wedding when her own promotion consumes majority of her time, he loves her. It'll be worth it in the end. Their love has to be strong enough to get over the fork in the road of planning a wedding.

One year after the proposal and ten months before their autumn wedding date, is when Steve came home to silence at six o' clock on the dot. He would've never thought she was home if he hadn't seen her car parked outside.

"Peg?" He yells into the apartment and follows the scent of her perfume to their bedroom where she sits stone still on the edge of their unmade bed like a statue at the wall ahead.

He's alarmed immediately.

"Baby?" Steve rushes to her side and wraps two arms around her shoulders. "Peg, what is it?"

The woman swallows, shaking her head, and refusing to look in Steve's direction as though she were embarrassed; It's not something that happens often, but when Peggy gets flustered, some real shit might be occurring.

"You know how I've been feeling sick as of late?" She mutters, settling into Steve's body with her head on his broad shoulder. Steve nods and squeezes her closer, nose nuzzling into her scalp.

"What's wrong, baby?" He coos softly and prepares himself for the worst until Peggy reaches behind her and presents a pregnancy test.

Steve stills just like her and only has the ability to breathe haphazardly.

_Shit_.

"Is...is it...is it positive...?" He stutters over his words multiple times and reaches out for the stick to check for himself.

Peggy stays quiet and smiles broadly as his face twists to stop tears and brightens at the pink plus sign.

"Oh my goodness," he gasps. "Holy... You're gonna be a father...I'm pregnant."

Peggy bursts into laughter at his jumble of words and brings his face to hers. "Close enough, Daddy-o." She smirks into the kiss and he can barely comprehend it all. It was all too good to be true. Getting married _and_ having a baby? There's no way any man could be this lucky.

It was never intended to have a baby before marriage, but given the circumstances, they were willing to hold off their wedding till the following year. The wedding could wait - the baby would not. If anything, they're already married in spirit. A wedding is just a ceremony; marriage is a state of mind.

With a baby on the way, it was impossible for Steve not to panic. Sam tried his best to assist his best friend in dealing with a newborn as a good godfather would, but it didn't make Steve any less antsy. Like the faithful lover he is, he attends all the doctor's appointments, ultrasounds, and birthing classes required of his pregnant fiancé. Towards the beginning of her second trimester is when the shift from before occurred yet again and Peggy, hormonal as she was, and Steve didn't see eye to eye.

To ease the stress of everything happening, Steve worked even more. He worked harder than he normally would with late shifts and extra commissions to help put some money in the bank for their baby and upcoming nuptials. He designated Peggy's irritation with him being away so often as hormones and didn't think twice about anything else since for the most part, he's happy and there's no one else he'd rather get bitched out by that Peggy.

Even through all the love, they argued. Peggy had her opinions. Steve had his. Peggy had pride. Steve did too, but it wasn't enough to overshadow that the craziness is temporary, and sooner than later, they'll be married with a beautiful baby with Peggy's curls and Steve's eyes.

That's the endgame. That's the paradise; the dream, the fantasy, the ideal.

It put a smile on Steve's face even as he ran fingers over Peggy's angry forehead wrinkles to make them when she yelled at him about this or that.

"I love you," he says adoringly, making her face ease and her frown lift into an appeased thin line.

She _doesn't_ say it back.

Steve always kept his love in mind when he did little things like work or decorate the nursery with a mural he'd painted consisting of a jungle with two monkeys, a tiger, toucans, a gorilla, and reptiles. The end product impressed Sam and all his other friends when he showed them, but Peggy barely even spoke when he uncovered her eyes to take in the mural. She nodded and shrugged about how nice it looks and left for twelve hours, presumably at work then onto a doctor's appointment.

"I'll go with you," Steve offered, dejected by her reaction to his hard work that took an entire month to finish. Like he'd burned her, she jerked away from him and stared in his direction, not meeting his eyes, as though she were offended by the suggestion of him daring to come to the appointment.

"I'll be fine on my own," she told him, defeating him when she shut the door and left him confused and hurt in the living room. He ignored it and kept his suspicions to a minimum when he cleaned up his paints and brushes from the nursery. All he could keep in mind is that he's in love, and his love is just tired.

Steve should've known something was amiss when he'd gotten the call in the middle of the day that Peggy went into labor and showed up to the hospital to find Gabe, a teacher at the middle school, was there, looking as stressed at Steve felt. At the time, he didn't register anything unless it had to do with Peggy and his newborn.

Sam and Tony arrived with a few members of Peggy's family to wait while Steve nearly had his hand ripped smooth off of his wrist while Peggy squeezed and pushed with all her might. In the middle of it all, he's doing his best in encouraging her and telling her it'll all be alright when he's panicking himself. There's a whole human being coming out of his fiancé; as natural as it is, it's breaking him out in a sweat, bringing tears to his eyes, and increasing his heart's beats per minute.

Mikayla Sarah Rogers was born that evening at six pounds and three ounces. Her eyes and the tuft of dark brown, curly hair on her little head belonged to Peggy; her skin hued browner than Peggy and Steve's skin tones, but it didn't seem to matter when Steve held the infant in his arms, cooing and singing her to serenity if she began to fuss. With tears and hearts in his eyes, he kissed the baby maybe a million times.

"I love you, Mikayla. Daddy loves you, baby," he's promising, ignoring all the knowing looks in his direction from his friends and nurses, noticing the obvious, but gracious enough to let him live in peace.

Shit doesn't hit the fan until Peggy and Steve brought Mikayla back to the apartment. With everyday that passed, her complexion only got darker and her features became more prominent; she had everything of Peggy and nothing of Steve.

It hurt his soul to face the truth of Mikayla _not_ being his baby.

Three months of silence and many fights later, Steve confronted Peggy while the baby was at Peggy's mom's house.

"Just tell me the truth," he begs, completely calm and accepting of whatever she's going to tell him. He's prepared for it. All he wants is to be marry her, raise Mikayla, and be happy. He can overlook the infidelity and the lies; he love Peggy enough to forgive everything and move on.

All he needs is the truth - he needs his suspicions to be confirmed before he can move forward with patching up the relationship.

Peggy huffs and shakes her head solemnly. "Steve, _please_."

"_Don't_ lie to me. I-I'm _not_ mad. Just tell me. Peg, please...just tell me the truth..."

It breaks Steve to hear Peggy tell him that yes, she did cheat and got pregnant by another man. He manages to stay on his feet and not collapse over when she explains who Gabe is and that they'd began their affair when she got her promotion. His breath shortened when she confesses that she knew that Mikayla was Gabe's the second she'd gotten pregnant, and that he went to doctor's appointments that Steve didn't know about.

Totally hopeful, Steve went to work that following morning with a full plate, keeping his promise to make everything right in mind. Tonight, he and Peggy would sit down and fix everything. He has to let her know she's forgiven, and he's willing to make the best of it all by staying present in Mikayla's life and marrying Peggy. He has to let her know he loves her, because that's what she's needed.

_Right_?

Whatever's remaining of his world crumbles into a mess of sharp shards when he gets home that evening and runs into Peggy with a suitcase and her wedding dress.

The stare down was intense.

"Where'r you going?" He questions shakily, pointing to the bags in hand.

It's when she doesn't respond and hangs her head does he take note that her art from the walls are gone as are the fine china once belonging to her grandmother in the cabinet. She swallows hard and confidentially tells him, "I'm leaving. I've only taken what was mine."

"_Leaving_?!" He yelps, slamming the door behind him and throwing his messenger bag. It all clicks, and whatever patience he'd developed through all of this disappears like every other hope he's had. "You're leaving me?!"

"Steve," she tries, but he's not hearing it.

"And just where the fuck do you think you're going?" He's screeching now, and it's all happening too fast. In that moment, all he can think to do is fight for this - whatever _this_ is. "_TO HIM?_"

Peggy's alarmed at how loud he'd gotten, but stands her ground. "He's the father of my child."

"So, you love him now? You wanna be with him? After everything you put me through, you don't have the decency to pretend to wanna stay?"

Her silence infuriates him. On instinct, he snatches the suitcase from her hands and tosses it somewhere unknown, knocking over some furniture but the crash of the lamp to the floor is the least of his problems.

"Are you fucking insane?" She's screaming now, gasping at the damages of her suitcases as the contents inside spill out. "Steve, look, this is for the best!"

"_The best_? You think having a baby by another guy and leading me on like you loved me is for _the best_? How dare you wear this ring like you deserve it," he snarls, yanking her left hand upward to snatch the ring off but abruptly stops when he sees that it's gone and in its place is _another_ engagement ring.

His face is tomato red now while his skin prickles.

"You're _marrying_ him."

As if more bad news were possible, she clears her throat and destroys him: "_Married_. We're moving into our new house tonight."

Stunned and slowly dying on the inside, Steve stares in disbelief at the woman before him.

How in the hell is this the same person who told him his eyes were the prettiest shade of blue she'd ever seen on their first date? Is this the same person who bought him that motorcycle? The same person who let him cry on her shoulder when his mother was in the hospital and went peacefully in her sleep? The same person who promised to love and protect him from any and everything even if her life depended on it?

No. There's no way. It's not possible - this is someone else. This isn't _his_ Peggy.

His Peggy wouldn't have created an entire other life with some guy she works with and left him to rot by himself.

"Married him..._you married him_? Wh-wh-when..." He stumbles backwards to lean on the door, pointing accusingly at her. "When?"

"We went down to the courthouse days after Mikayla was born. I'd intended to work everything out with you beforehand but-" she starts but Steve jumps in.

"But what? _What_?! You didn't plan on me wanting to stay with you after treating me like shit? Well, I did, Peg. I did... I still do... _C-Can't you see I love you?_"

He's whimpering now, and he could care less how pathetic he sounds. "What's that fucker got that I don't? I don't treat you right? I don't love you enough? If that's the case, baby, _I'll love you...I'll love you better than he can_...we can-we can work this out. Give him the ring back... _Please_..."

His vision is blurred by the tears ready to pour from his eyes. She's just a figure before him. He can't make sense of anything when his head is swarming so much. She stands there almost impatiently as he weeps with his head in his hands. It's clear this is a inconvenience, but his head is too loud to register that begging won't work.

"We're holding a ceremony this autumn," she announces softly like it'll calm him. "It's not your fault this didn't work out. I hope to see you there if you think you can-"

His head lifts slowly to shoot pained daggers at her. "You're inviting me to your wedding?" He clarifies slowly before he acts.

She rolls her eyes. "Steve, it's-"

Like a wild animal, Steve lashes out and claws at the dress bag, snatching it right out of her hands and stomping blindly to the kitchen.

"Hey, give that back!" She's screaming after him, following him to the kitchen and watching in horror as he carelessly takes the gown out of the bag and waves it back in forth tauntingly.

"_This_ the dress you were gonna wear to your wedding, huh?" He spits at her and yanks a random bottle of wine from the slot in the wall, pops it open, and pours the red content within in splashes all over the dress. "The dress I bought with _my money_, huh? Bet you would've made a beautiful bride!" He's screaming between tears, pouring till the bottles empty and the white silk fabric is stained to hell.

Peggy's chest is heaving up and down quickly at what's happening before her, eyes darting in every direction in disbelief at her tarnished dress and manic ex-fiancé. "What the hell are you doing!" She screeches over his own yelling, stuck in place by shock.

"Fuck you and this dress, Peggy!" His throat is ready to give out and his hands are burning from the fabric as he uses whatever strength he can muster to rip the dress to shreds. "Fuck him! I hope that little girl grows up to know how much of a coward you were!"

"Fuck you, Steve!"

Because he's ready to drive the point home, he takes what he has left of the dress and plops it on the nearest burner of the stove behind him. "Watch it burn slowly," Steve growls, turning the knob all the way up and instantly, a flame roars upward, glistening against Steve and Peggy's wet eyes.

"Are you out of your mind?" She finally moves, clicking the stove off and tugging the rest of her dress away from the appliance so not to catch fire. Steve watches her drop to her knees in the middle of the glass, wine and burnt or ripped fabric on the floor, sniffling at the mess he'd made.

"What have you done?" She's crying now, gathering her ruined dress and shaking her head. "What..."

Coming off the angry adrenaline high, Steve cusses under his breath and buries his head again. _He loves her so much. _"Please...please, stay..." He whispers. "I love you. Can't you see I love you? I want you to stay. I wanna marry you. _I love you. I love you, Peg. I l-l-love you..._"

She's crying into her hands now, too. "I don't care..." She wails at him and shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. It's not enough."

He repeated that he loved her till his throat was sore. Peggy left immediately after getting her suitcase situated, saying not another word to Steve when she left. He figures he sat on the kitchen floor crying for four hours till he'd gotten up and went to the empty nursery where Mikayla's crib, changing tables, dresser, and stuffed animals once were. He found Sarah's ring on his dresser and tucked it in the deepest depths of his closet, that appeared so much bigger without Peggy's clothes inside.

The day after, he painted over the mural. That day after, he joined S.H.I. 's teleworking program.

And everyday after, he dreamed of ways to rid himself of the guilt and betrayal he'd felt. Eventually, everyone stopped hearing from him then they stopped seeing him out and about.

Sam, on multiple occasions, spent the night at his apartment on suicide watch after Steve confessed how low he'd gotten.

During it all, the only thought running through Steve's head is that he'd never love again.

That is until he'd gotten a knock on his door eight years later about some guy who'd lost his daughter.

* * *

Bucky can hardly believe his ears when Steve concludes the story. Picturing all of it didn't compute in his head, so he shakes it and looks downward at their conjoined hands. Steve's shaking at the memories, eyes shut tight to block any and everything out.

After all this time with wanting to know, he can't fathom how the man in front of him was ever capable of getting that hurt, or how he was capable of doing what he did to Peggy's dress, or even still wanting to be with her even after discovering that the love of his life didn't want him anymore. It doesn't add up to why Peggy would do such a thing and leave this man so broken and torn. _What'd he do? Why did it happen?_ It's a fucking miracle that Steve even looked twice at Bucky after trauma like that.

With that in mind, Bucky finds himself fuming, damn near turning red and steam blowing out of his ears like a cartoon character. Steve's behavior and refusal to express his love are justified, hurting in the deepest core of his frame like a kick in the balls, and it transferred to Bucky in the most powerful way carrying your lover's hurt can. It's crippling.

"C'mere," Bucky whispers against Steve's shivering shoulder, kissing his cheek when Steve obeys and lets the brunet encase him. "Oh, _Stevie_."

With his head in Bucky's neck, he sighs brokenly, images of that day she left clear and in technicolor as if it were happening before him - as if he can reach out and stop it.

Truth be told, Bucky's sure he wouldn't stop it. As selfish as it is to not stop Peggy from cheating or Steve from losing his mind on her, he'd let it happen. He'd let his Stevie get hurt so he can find his way to someone who loves and appreciates him.

That someone is Bucky.

Steve wouldn't stop it either.

"Thank you for trusting me with that," Bucky says, peppering more kisses to his face. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was that bad, baby boy."

Steve sniffles and wipes his face with Bucky's shirt, earning a chuckles and circles massaged into his back.

"I love you, okay?"

Steve nods. "I'm sorry, Bucky. I-I-I need time before I-"

"No, I get it. I understand."

"Just know that I feel the same, alright?" Steve knows it sounds dumb, but Bucky is nodding in agreement, fully getting the weight of those words and why they're so hard to articulate.

"I get it. I know. Are you okay?"

To not ruin the stream of honesty, Steve shakes his head and stays cocooned in the safety of his boyfriend's arms. "_No_. Hold me."

Bucky does so faithfully.

The kisses don't let up nor do the tears.


	23. 23

Two weeks following Steve's breakdown is when he'd made the final decision to sell his beloved motorcycle in exchange for the black Jeep he'd had bookmarked on his laptop for what's been maybe a month now. Sam tried to convince him to keep it in storage just like they'd talked about, but it didn't sit right with Steve to think about his poor bike in a storage unit going unridden for no reason when someone else could enjoy her instead.

With the bike now gone and an extra eight thousand dollars in his bank account, he's gotten himself a gently used 2014 model black beauty of Grand Cherokee Jeep to get around in instead of being confined to taking the subway on date night and hitching rides. It's slick, manly, and a big step up technology wise from what he's used to with the bike. It's also something convenient for Bucky to use instead of constantly borrowing Clint's second car or walking to get Mischka to and from school. In the brief time he's had the vehicle, Bucky's probably used it more than him not because Steve is still a pretty shitty driver and got his new license by the skin of his teeth, but truthfully because he misses Peggy, primarily the purr of her engine when she's brought to life.

It's only appropriately necessary to rid his life of any and everything involving Peggy the person since baring it all to Bucky. Burning the pictures of them kept in albums locked far away in his closet, cleaning out his closet of her clothing, and redecorating the apartment were steps he'd taken years ago to help erase her and selling the bike is the final way of letting her go and moving on entirely. Given Bucky and Mischka have strong ties with Peggy, Gabe, and Mikayla, he'll never truly be away from her, but in the immediate sense of getting her out his life and his house, Steve's succeeded. The Jeep will grown on him; he - Steve's decided it's a boy this time - has yet to be named, and in time he will be.

After taking the half an hour commute from the S.H.I.E.L.D office to Brooklyn, Steve parallel parks across the street from the apartments the best he can the way Sam had re-taught him before taking killing the engine. He's in moderate spirits - not sad but not particularly chipper about anything - and it shows in the way he casually bounces up the steps to his level and lets himself into his apartment.

Carter is at his feet immediately, chew toy in her mouth and tail wagging, more excited than he is to be home. He smiles at her wryly and sets his keys on their hook on the wall before forcing the toy from Carter's mouth and tossing it in the opposite direction of where he's walking.

It'd be another hour before Bucky got home from band practice and Clint drops off Mischka from rehearsal, so to make the time pass, Steve grabs his mail, sketch pad and phone to have something to do out on the balcony.

He rummages through the mail carefully, compartmentalizing piles of trash and ads from bills and letters for all of fifteen minutes before he catches a yellow taxi pulling up to the apartment building. That's not abnormal in Brooklyn, but Bucky stepping out of the taxi with a pair of aviators sunglasse on is. Scrunching his eyebrows together, Steve watches his boyfriend pay the driver and hurriedly enter the apartment building without looking anywhere but forward as though doing so would stall his progress to get inside.

It's odd for Bucky to have taken a taxi when Dum Dum usually brings him home after practice, and since he can now, Steve would've easily driven to the bar to retrieve him.

Counting down in his head for Bucky's knock, Steve continues going through his mail, and it's after a whole two minutes without Bucky coming over to greet him does his suspicions grow. Like clockwork, whenever one of them gets home after the other, they're over to the other's apartment in sixty seconds or less to spend the remainder of the night as a family. It'd been a boring day at the office, and it already irked Steve enough that Bucky insisted on going to band practice even after he asked him out on a lunch date. He needed to see his Bucky; he barely got to this morning before he had to be out the door for work.

Like a jack-in-the-box, Steve springs up from his lawn chair after another whole minute of silence to travel across the hall to see what the deal is. Carter follows with just as much enthusiasm as her human to be going to Bucky's apartment so she can wait for Mischka to come home. The animal waits patiently at Steve's feet, tail wagging happily when he taps their signature usual three knocks over the peephole. He wishes he had a key.

In the mere minutes it took for Bucky to shout out, "It's open!", Steve finds himself content with the fact that he's head over heels crazy for this guy if he's this impatient and waiting five minutes for him to come over agitated the life out of him. He twists the knob and enters the apartment, only shutting the door till Carter is all the way in and already making herself comfortable on the sofa.

"Baby," Steve calls out when he sees that the living room and kitchen are empty. "Bucky..."

"I'm in the bathroom. J-j-just gimme a second," he's mumbling from the hallway bathroom. Steve walks in that direction and pushes the ajar door slightly with one hand, getting a glimpse of Bucky's profile before the door slams back in his face with a gush of wind behind in within seconds. "I'll be out in a second," he reiterates frustratedly, cursing under his breath when Steve makes a noise of confusion at his panicked behavior.

"Baby, are you-"

"Perfectly fine," Bucky interrupts before Steve can make an assumption. "Just go sit in the living room or something, please."

The desperation to be left alone only triggers Steve further, compelling him to do the exact opposite and keep getting in Bucky's face until he tells him what is wrong. It's obvious that something is, and as much as Steve would like to adhere to his boyfriend's wishes, he's still Steve Rogers - _Steve Rogers is stubborn._ He doesn't move, but just stands quietly in front of the door for all of fifteen minutes, picking up the obscure sounds and annoyed swears coming from the other side. The wait ends just before Steve loses all his patience and asks if he's okay again when the bathroom light clicks off and the door swings open.

Bucky's shoulders jump an inch in the air at Steve's imposing stance and grimace being the first thing he sees, but plays it off by rushing out the bathroom and pecking his cheek.

"Hey, babe," he sing songs nervously, kissing his lips now but Steve doesn't respond accordingly.

_Something's off._ The atmosphere is thick with tension and suspicion, making Steve's body hairs prickle and goosebumps surface while Bucky's reddening from the tips of his ears to his jawline and down his neck.

"What?" the younger man says, worming passed Steve to go into the living room, ducking his head as he does. The blond swiftly reaches outward just in time to grab him by his forearm and pulls him into a proper kiss.

It's a soft patter of the lips between them -very sweet and gentle. It's a kiss to get lost in, and Bucky certainly does when he hums contently onto Steve's lips, dropping his guard when his arms wrap around Steve's neck to trap him tight against his body. Steve's suspicion lessens for that distracted moment that he and Bucky are connected, and it's heightened again when he pulls away to look at Bucky and furrows his eyes at the splotchy, oily spot smears surrounding his eye. He leans inward with narrowed eyes and a wrinkle in his forehead to get a better look.

"Are you wearing makeup?"

Bucky jerks away like Steve stabbed him and twirls to be facing away to discreetly pat the area around his eye and examine what looks to be foundation residue on his fingers.

"Dammit," he mutters and tries to get passed Steve again, but is stopped when his very large boyfriend gets in his path. Bucky sighs, agitated, and tries to get into the bathroom, but Steve isn't having it. "Move, Steve."

"What the hell is going on? _Why_ are you wearing makeup?"

"I'm trying something new."

With a raised eyebrow, Steve takes hold of his forearm again to bring him forward and further inspect his face. "On _one_ eye?"

"It's just foundation and concealer," Bucky explains, trying his hardest to escape and winces in pain when Steve caresses his thumb over the covered area. At his boyfriends hiss of discomfort, Steve pulls away to look at his face a whole.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" Something is definitely off; he's not heavy handed.

Bucky shakes his head immediately and pulls back to distance himself from Steve's focused stare. The natural light shining through the dining room window hits an angle of Bucky's face that exposes a red, blotchy undertone beneath the poor foundation application.

"What the hell?" He says under his breath, approaching the brunet with intent, wiping the makeup from around his eye gently so not to hurt him to reveal a purpling bruise starting from Bucky's temple, passed his cheek bone then under his eye. Upon sight of the shiner, Steve gasps and takes a step away to assure that if what he's seeing is correct. The sheepish frown Bucky is sporting already tells the story of Steve's inflamed reaction.

The stare down between them is the calm before the storm till Steve points to the side of his baby boy's face and growls _"What the fuck happened?"_

Instinctively, Steve's protective mode is dialed to a thousand, growing angrier and angrier the longer he's looking at the unflattering discoloration that makes up the bruise settling on Bucky's sunken face. Along with his mother being a nurse, Steve's been in plenty of scrapes before; He knows there's no way in hell this was an accident like walking into a pole or falling.

_Someone_ hit Bucky.

_His Bucky._

"Steve, baby, it's nothing-"

That angers him further, but he doesn't take it out on Bucky. "Nothing? You come home trying to cover up a quarter of your face bruised as fuck and expect _me_, of all people, to think it's _nothing_? Try again."

"It's stupid," Bucky tells him and finally gets his way into the bathroom to inspect the damage for himself in the mirror. "Fuck," he hisses and removes the remainder of the makeup with a damp wad of tissue paper.

"Bucky," Steve starts with an exasperated sigh as he enters the kitchen to make a bag of ice to wrap in a dish towel. "Babe, I really don't think now is the time to be discreet with me. Someone put their hands on you, and I wanna know _who_ and _why_ so _I can fucking kill them._"

The sentence comes out his mouth viciously - nearly predatory - with disdain and disgust directed towards Bucky's attackers, yet the sound of his protectiveness has Bucky smiling to himself. It vanishes when Steve arrives back to the bathroom, edging in behind Bucky to set the ice pack to his face. Before it makes contact, Steve's mouth sags pitifully with empathy.

"Jesus, baby," he exhales and cautiously rubs the bruises with his thumb when he pulls the ice pack back. Bucky winces again but relaxes at Steve's touch. "Oh, my baby...tell me what happened. Please?"

"'S not a big ass deal."

"Someone put their hands on _my_ boyfriend which makes it a _gigantic_ ass deal."

Bucky takes the ice pack and applies pressure to his face while he takes a seat on the closes toilet lid. "Oh, you're gonna be mad," he warns Steve, but he just shakes his head in dismissal. He's already mad.

"I went to practice, and I didn't know Peggy was gonna be there - it was my first time seeing her after you told me about what happened," he begins, rolling his good eye at her name. "If I'd known she'd be there I would've skipped out on meeting the guys today. Baby, _I tried my hardest_ not to freak out on her whenever she'd even so much as breathed in my direction. Everything you told me was just floating around in my head, and it took all the strength I had _not_ to say something unprompted."

Steve leans on the counter and listens further, picturing a red faced Bucky side eying the hell out of Peggy.

"It was cool for maybe fifteen minutes, and she's talking to me casually about Mikayla and it's when she mentioned something about her first pregnancy being rougher than this one for '_obvious reasons,_'" - he uses his metal fingers for air quotes - "and_ I fucking lost it_," Bucky recalls fondly, chuckling to himself at his bold behavior.

"I began cussing her out about how it was only rough because of the undeniable amounts of stress she put herself through living a lie by trying to juggle two men - one who she's lying to, continually cheats on, mentally destroys, and emotionally scars while she plans a wedding that she had the nerve to invite you to and buys a house with a nursery filled with the baby furniture _you_ paid for. I think I maybe said something about how nice her wedding dress would've looked if you hadn't massacred it to hell and back."

At that, Steve's jaw drops, but Bucky continues with a smirk.

"I went on to say that she's a selfish coward who never deserved you, she's missing out on a high-quality dick, and that it was really inappropriate to even bring Mikayla to the sleepover when she's four years older than every other kid there. She didn't really have much to rebuttal with since she knew I was right and not before long, Gabe _al-fucking- mighty_ marches over to defend her honor like a prince in a fairy tale and I told him about his self as much as I did his wife," Bucky says proudly and shrugs it off while Steve's eyes are widening at what a scene it would've been to see Bucky go off the way he's describing on Peggy and Gabe.

"I basically told Gabe that he's just as much a coward as Peggy to look you in the face on the day of your supposed daughter's birth and congratulate you when he knows damn well that baby wasn't yours. I let him have it just as harsh when I told him that he'll never be the man you are and that I pray Mikayla knows what she was born into when she's old enough.

"I'm pretty sure he punched me in the face first then my stomach when I refused to leave before I finished giving my diagnosis. I got a few good swings in and bloodied his nose up real nice before some of the other guys pulled me off of him and tried to calm me down. Some more fighting and yelling occurred before I resigned from beings one of Mikayla's unofficial uncles and told them not to expect me back at the 107th. Don't ask what that means for The Howling Commandos because I have no clue yet."

Steve nods once before narrowing his gaze at Bucky and letting himself kiss him sweetly on the cheek. "Gabe did this," he clarifies, grinding his teeth together as he kneels before Bucky to be eye level. That makes it even worse.

"You should see him."

"What if he presses charges?"

"For? He hit me first," he says slyly, putting the ice pack down and twitching at the light above them. "Couldn't handle the truth about himself or his wife so he goes and hits me like that'll stop the truth."

The longer Steve stares at the mark on Bucky's face, the angrier he becomes. The same questions remain unanswered in his head, but he goes for the simplest one. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"This happened nearly a decade ago - I'm sure Peg and Gabe have had time to realize they fucked up," Steve reasons, but Bucky scoffs and shakes his head.

"Yeah, but they never realized it from _me_ since I seem to be the only real motherfucker in the equation," he states simply. "You really think anybody has actually called them out for doing what they did? I'm sorry, babe, but it's a little frustrating to me that Peggy got to live her life fine while you suffered for damn near a decade until you ever resolved anything. It angers me to the point of wanting to fight Gabe and Peggy that they live life thinking they're holier than everybody else because they have a perfect marriage and a perfect child when they hurt you, _my baby_, to get it.

"I don't like people hurting you, okay? I know you're a grown man capable of taking care of himself, but when it comes to this - your feelings - I don't care what the fuck goes on in the bedroom because _you're my baby boy._ Trust that I'll fight _anybody_ for you."

Steve's heart is swelling in his chest at how irrevocably in love with Bucky he is. He's never had a knight in shining armor - it was always a role destined for himself, but to have someone protect him the way he would them is sending what he senses are millions of sparks and flares to his heart and brain at just the sight of Bucky. Black eye and all, he's the eighth wonder of the world, and Steve's losing his breath over it.

"You mean that?"

"I wouldn't be sittin' here with a black eye if I didn't."

Steve actually blushes at that. "You didn't have to do any of this for me."

"Yes, I did," Bucky protests with a condescending huff. "How in the hell am I supposed to smile and be fake to this woman's face like she's still my friend when she hurt you the way she did? I tried, God knows I did, but it's like she triggered me. No one fucks with you without getting a rise outta me."

_I love you. Wow, I love you._ There'r hearts swirling in Steve's eyes the more Bucky keeps talking.

"Gabe and I were falling off anyway when I figured out that _he's_ the guy Peggy left you for. It was only a matter of time till we fought."

"I don't think I can picture you fighting."

"I'm not a punk ass bottom all the time," he teases himself lightheartedly. "I got some gusto when it's needed."

With a grin, Steve kisses Bucky on the chin and nibbles his bottom lip. "My hero," he hums and gestures to the bottle of foundation and setting powder on the counter beside them. "I'm pretty sure Darcy could help you with covering that up."

"The lady at the drug store wasn't much help when she just told me to apply this stuff on areas in need of coverage," he tells him, picking the bottle up and reading the label. "Girls are magicians with this shit."

Steve agrees with a curt nod and continues to grimace at the sight before him. As satisfied as he is that someone called out Peggy on her bullshit, he's not too fond with that someone being Bucky since he wound up getting hurt. He's honored and so in love with the heroism, but none of it seems worth it if his baby boy's face is all marked up. Undoubtedly, he's still gorgeous as ever, but the sole fact that someone put their hands on him is what irritates Steve the most. Gabe seems to have a streak of ruining the good things in his life.

"So, I'm guessing we won't be going to the 107th this Friday?"

Bucky shrugs nonchalantly. "This might be the end of the Commandos anyway. Everyone's trying to focus on their own lives, and they're not as invested in the band anymore. We're all pushing thirty, trying to be in a rock band, making five hundred dollars for every set we do." He rolls his eyes. "It wasn't gonna last forever, I suppose."

"Did you ever wanna take the music anywhere? Like being famous and touring?"

"Initially, yeah," he admits. "As I got older, it seemed unnecessary when I've got everything I need performing in Brooklyn. No managers or producers telling me what my content should be. No ghostwriting. No drama. I'm fine right where I am."

"It'd be easy for you to get your name out there if you posted some of your stuff on the Internet," Steve suggested, setting the ice pack onto Bucky's face so he won't have to look at the bruise. "You've got quite a following here."

"As nice as that would be to pursue, I think I've grown out of wanting it. I'm turning _twenty_-_fucking_-_eight_ in _two_ months. There's other things I'm focused on like getting a job I like in the city so we can commute together, taking care of my daughter," he ducks his head low to hide the shy grin playing over his lips before adding, "Taking care of _you_."

"You like taking care of me?"

"If I don't, who will?"

That's a fair point. "I wanna punch the fuck out of Gabe right now."

"I got in enough licks for you and me," Bucky boasts, flexing his metal wrist. "He's got fortitude, I'll give 'im that. I don't know a lot of people who'd go against someone with a metal arm."

In reality, Steve would've done the same thing if he and Peggy were still together. He would've fought the entire world for her.

He shakes that thought out and sighs. "I'll call Darcy. Hopefully she's free in time before the kid gets home."

Mischka would have an emotional fit if she saw the bruise on Bucky's face; behind Steve, she's the most protective of him and if she had the ability and height to do so, she'd give Gabe a taste of his own medicine. She'd have some sour words for Peggy and even cut off her friendship with Mikayla solely because her father beat up hers. Given that she's only six, she won't comprehend much of it if they sat down and explained why Bucky has a black eye and the likelihood of ever seeing Aunt Peggy and Uncle Gabe again is nonexistent. She'd understand bits and pieces since she is a very intelligent and observant being, but the true details of the situation could wait till she was in middle school.

Thankfully, Darcy made it to Brooklyn half an hour before Clint brought Mischka home and managed to cover up Bucky's bruise with the extensive slew of products she always has on her person ranging from concealer, foundation, setting powder, setting spray, and color corrector. While she's at it, she plucked and shaped Bucky's ridiculously bushy eyebrows into two, slightly arched, kempt masterpieces above his eyes with a maximum amount of squirming and complaining on Bucky's part. The end product is by far better than anything Bucky could've done by himself.

"Can Aunt Darcy stay for dinner? Please? _Pleeeease_? _Pleeeeeeeeease_?" Mischka is begging comically with her tiny hands in a prayer position, staring up at Bucky with round, wishful eyes while Darcy puts her makeup and supplies back into her travel sized pack.

"If she wants to," Bucky says, the child's attention averted to the young woman when Bucky points in Darcy's direction. "Whaddyou say, Darce? It's Tuesday - taco night."

Without having to be convinced, Darcy nods at the three of them and zips her purse up. "You had me at tacos. Please tell me there will be beer. What is Taco Tuesday without a good ol' fashion Corona?"

"We've got Sam Adams, but since you were so nice as to my fix my boyfriend's face, I don't mind going out and getting you a case," Steve offers, teasingly poking Bucky's reddening cheeks only to have the tip of his finger playfully nipped.

"Why'd you have to fix my Daddy's face?" Mischka muses, lifting her arms to be lifted. Darcy complies and balances the seemingly weightless child onto her wide hips.

"Well, your Daddy got hurt this afternoon and needed a makeup lesson to cover up some bruises," she explains simply in the kindest tone possible. Mischka's eyes flicker in an instant to inspect Bucky's immaculate, blemish-free face like she'll see passed the layers of makeup and see the bruise.

"Are you okay?" Her voice is tiny and careful like asking too loud would disturb him.

"I'm fine, doll," he insists, winking and grinning at her in the flawless way that Bucky does everything. Hearing him reassure her and mean it relaxes muscles in Steve's shoulders and back he hadn't realized tensed up over the last hour. "You wanna go to the store with Steve and I?"

"I wanna start dinner with Aunt Darcy," she decides and slithers out of Darcy's arms to open the fridge and pulling out ingredients needed for the meal. "Can I teach Darcy the recki-resi-reci-"

"Recipe," Bucky helps her and nods to the two of them. "Sure, go 'head. You know where the recipe is?"

"Yes, Daddy," she says and takes Darcy's hand in hers to lead her into the kitchen. "It's in the cabinet, right? Can you get ice cream from the store, too? Please?"

"Yeah, kid, we're on it," Steve promises as Bucky grabs his apartment keys and holds the door open for Steve to walk through. "Be back in twenty!"

After retrieving the car keys - Steve's gonna have to get used to carrying them around - from his apartment, Steve drives he and Bucky to their usual grocery store down the block to get the beer, ice cream, and other ingredients they're missing at home for tacos.

"I think I've got a name for the truck," Bucky says when Steve parallel parks back into his spot about fifteen minutes later. "If you're taking suggestions that is."

Steve extracts the key from the ignition and the truck powers down instantly. In the silence of the dead motor, Steve sighs and humors him. "What is it?"

"Black Widow."

Steve tests it out with a glance around the interior but shakes his head at it. "Eh, maybe if I'd gone with black leather seats. And 'sides, he's a boy. Black _Widower_ ain't as sexy."

Bucky snorts and circles his index finger idly around the gear shift aimlessly. "Mmm," he hums in thought. "How about Blank Panther?"

"Okay, I like that," Steve agrees and opens his door. "Black Panther it is."

Reveling in the simple domesticity of making tacos with his family distracts Steve entirely from that afternoon's events, and for a moment in time, he can't remember why he was so fumed. It's not until after they finish dinner, desert, and an episode of Breaking Bad some hours later does he remember why he was out for blood when Darcy is washing the makeup from Bucky's face and instructing him on how to apply it for everyday until it's healed.

"Does it still hurt?" Steve asks him as they strip down for nightly showers.

"Not as much as it did earlier."

"Anything I can do?" He asks sweetly, tossing his shirt into Bucky's hamper along with other assortments and mixes of his clothes and Bucky's.

"Kiss it," Bucky tells him, exiting the bathroom just to be near him. Steve does as told and kisses the area lightly so not to hurt him.

"_My baby_," he murmurs when he backs away and assesses the damage again. "Is it just your face that's bruised? Does anywhere else hurt? You wanna go to the hospital?"

"No, I'm good, Steve," Bucky insists. "I've have been in fights before. This ain't my first rodeo."

If that were supposed to make Steve feel better, it certainly doesn't. The last thing he wants to picture is his baby boy fighting anybody. "Yeah, but you gotta remember that I was, too. What if you have a concussion?" Steve asks him and kisses the area again. "I still can't believe you did that, though. I got the mind to go down there tomorrow and give Gabe a busted lip to match his nose."

"As fun as that sounds," Bucky begins with feigned hope in a lilted voice. "I'm tired of fighting and will do everything in my power to never have to walk into that bar ever again."

"Tell you what: how bout you come with me to work tomorrow?"

Bucky's newly arched eyebrows reach for his hairline as his eyes get skeptically wide at the suggestion. "Is this your way of keeping me from going back to the bar?"

"Yes and no," Steve admits, shimmying out of his bottoms and boxer briefs to be fully naked. "It'd be nice to have some company at the office."

Bucky momentarily smirks at Steve's flaccid penis slinging with each step they take to the bathroom. He strips nude as well then grabs them towels from the sink cabinet to place on the toilet.

"Thought you'd had enough company with your little girlfriends," he teases innocently, babying his voice comically before turning from the toilet to see Steve grimacing at him like the true old man he is. "Joking."

Steve rolls his eyes upward and back down with fluttering eyelashes and a groan to accompany it. "If you must know, Kate is interested in Darcy, asshole. You coming with me to work or not?"

"Whatever you want, Steve," Bucky complies, slapping Steve's bare ass when he bends over to adjust the shower faucet. "Wow, I'm a twenty-seven year old with no job or career ambitions, following my old ass boyfriend around. Does that technically make me your sugar baby?"

Even though Steve knows Bucky is only teasing, he can't help biting down on his lip to suppress a wanton moan building up in his throat at the memory of being in that sex shop of the same name.

Testing the water's temperature with his palm, Steve just laughs at the ridiculousness of Bucky's agony. "You're making yourself sound so lost. Yeah, you're twenty-seven with no job, but that doesn't mean you're broke. You've been saving money from the 107th gigs and-" Steve frowns and chooses wisely on what word to use - "servicing people for enough time to make it unemployed for a while, right? And you're not following me around - I asked you if you wanted to come to work with me. You have the option to decline," he reminds him and carefully steps into the shower, water immediately hitting his back.

Bucky steps in as well and lets the warm rush of heat relax his muscles and wash away today's worries.

"And to answer your question - yes, you're my sugar baby. Granted that we were born in the same decade-"

"Barely."

"I'll gladly be your sugar daddy," Steve finishes, giggling at his quip and reaching under the water to get a hold of Bucky's shampoo. "Turn around."

The following morning, Steve and Bucky found themselves in the shower a second time after the dirty shenanigans they'd gotten into the previous night. That including Bucky taking his time to apply his makeup and the Starbucks run, they arrived at the office all of half an hour late with barely getting Mischka to school on time as well as taking Carter on her walk before she'd made a bathroom out of the apartment.

Steve made it a mission to apologize to his staff while Bucky shamelessly ignored every dirty look when he proudly shut Steve's office door behind them.

His shit eating smirk only lasted so long until turning around to see Kate is already in Steve's office, rearranging his desk and briefing him on today's game plan. He didn't outright grimace, but he also made his irritation quite obvious when he loudly slurped the whipped cream topping off of his venti iced mocha and plopped on the rickety couch in the office's sitting area.

Going ignored by both of them, he wastes no time eating his breakfast sandwich and idly listening to them go back and forth about whatever his ears pick up.

"And, ah, before I go," Kate remembers on the spot as she sorts through the stack of mail delivered to his desk. "Fury sent out a newsletter about Sci-Con yesterday morning. Hear any buzz about it?"

At the mention of Sci-Con, Steve swallows his mouthful of iced green tea and barely maintains his excitement when he repeats, "Sci-Con? Jeez, is it that time of year already?"

Kate nods and almost goes to sit on the edge of Steve's desk like she usually does during their talks but flashes a quick glance to Bucky - who is in a committed relationship with his food at the moment - and decides against it. "Yeah, it's being held in DC this year Valentine's Day weekend. No pun intended, but a little birdie told me that _Bird Bros_ might get a booth at the convention.m."

"Yeah, right," Steve huffs. "A kid can only dream."

Sci-Con is one of the biggest, if not the biggest, comic book and pop culture fandom convention to ever grace the east coast. Many artists and graphic companies have tried and failed to land a booth for the three days the convention is in town for which automatically makes Steve's hopes to soar high if the rumor is true. S.H.I.E.L.D is invited to promote their art every year but no one in any department has ever been offered a booth or a panel. In the past, SHIELD representatives have attended Sci-Con, but it's nothing in comparison to the treatment higher end and better exposed comic books receive like landing a booth or panel. Initially, Steve dreamed of having his stories presented at Sci-Con Headquarters and over time, it turned into nothing but a pipe dream. With this tidbit of hope Kate's given him along with the _Bird Bros_ story giving him the manager's position, it doesn't seem _so_ far fetched.

"You did dream and look where you are!" Kate reminds him confidently, knocking him out of his swarming thoughts. "Even if _Bird Bros _doesn't get a booth, they'll still invite us like always and Fury'll have no choice but to send you as our rep. My sources are very credible, Steve."

"Are your sources the peanut gallery?"

Taking the tease like a champ, she rolls her eyes and flawlessly flips her straightened hair over her shoulder when she twirls on her heels and pursues to leave. "All that negativity is gonna give you wrinkles, Steve," she taunts on her way out, shutting the door for a mere second before popping her in to remind him, "You have a meeting with the Council and Fury at two."

"Fun," he mutters under his breath when she disappears behind the door for good. "Breakfast good?" He calls to Bucky as the younger man rises from the sofa, half a breakfast sandwich in his metal hand while the other is occupied with his coffee.

"Exceptional," he cheers around the chewed mush of egg, biscuit, cheese, sausage and saliva filling his face. "I remember when _The Phantom Menace_ came out, I begged Winnie and George to take me to Sci-Con. Obviously, we never went, so now I gotta get you to take me."

"Well, if this meeting's about what I think it is, I just might," Steve says, starting up his desktop and moving his mouse about on its pad.

Bucky swallows his food and digs through his computer bag to take out his laptop charger to plug in the wall before taking out the device itself. "You'd really take me?"

"Hell yeah." Steve nods with conviction and awaits for his graphic drawing software to load. "What's more romantic than a couple of nerds in love at Sci-Con Valentine's Day weekend?"

"Fair point. I'd take Mischka if she were interested in that kinda stuff. I've had opportunities to go, but I didn't wanna go by myself."

"Well, even if SHIELD doesn't attend Sci-Con, _I'll_ take you Valentine's Day weekend," the older man promises, elated by the bright smile plastering itself on Bucky's face.

Before departing for his meeting, Steve urged Bucky to remember bringing his visitor's pass if he should want to leave the building. It took maybe all of five minutes before Bucky got bored flipping through channels on the Tony Stark upgraded model flat screen hanging on the office wall, and shot Steve a text pertaining to lunch.

_**My Stevie:** kinda want Natalia's..._

Fondly grinning down at his phone as he texts back, Bucky barely heard the knock at the door and paid mild attention to Kate poking her head in before entering with a thick manila folder under her arm. He doesn't mean for it to happen but when Bucky notices her, an instinctive scowl graces his face and she responds with a knowing nod and shrug.

"Relax - I'm just dropping off some documents," she says more to herself than him as she sets the folder onto Steve's desk. Just when he thinks she'll leave without further interaction, the assistant leans on Steve's desk as casually and comfortably as she can in a pencil skirt and six inch heels. "For a moment there, I almost thought I saw a smile. Almost didn't think you were capable of contorting your face like that."

"Funny," he mumbles, only now realizing that its involuntary to make such an expression when she's around. "I smile quite often, actually."

"Either you're lying or you just conveniently appear sullen every time you see _me_," she guessed then adds, "I'm betting it's the latter, huh?"

Bucky doesn't have an answer prepared, but he doesn't need one since she's opening her mouth to speak again.

"Look, I get that Steve's a catch. But any interest I had in him left when you made it fairly well known our first time meeting that he belongs to you and you belong to him."

Hearing those words out loud in that structure gets a minor flutter in the bottom of Bucky's stomach. Ultimately, doing what he did the first time he met Kate was to let her - and anybody else wondering know - that Steve is very much taken by a man who is so crazy about him that he'd actually gotten a black eye in his defense, which only expands the list of things Bucky'd do for him. Even though Bucky knows it's not at all healthy to be as obsessively possessive and in love with Steve as he is, he's not ashamed nor sorry for his actions and the feelings attached to being truly - and appropriately - in love for the first time. It's a selfish to be how he is with Steve as if he's not a grown man capable of making his own decisions in the relationships he develops. If he could help it, he still probably wouldn't.

"Glad you know," he mutters and types something back to Steve before glancing up at her to see she's smiling at him. "What?"

"You really do love him, don't you?"

"More than any man can love anything. Him and my daughter are pretty much my world."

"Steve talks about that little girl all the time," she informs him fondly. "Would've told you earlier how cute you guys are, but you seem to know that already."

"Steve's the cute one. I'm just here."

"Well, James, you're lucky to have a guy like Steve to be as crazy about you as you are him. How'd you guys even meet?"

He loves telling this story, and he can't help the intensely fierce red patches forming on his cheeks or the toothy grin so animated it gets his nose scrunching adorably. "My kid's a dancer - a ballerina, to be specific - and she had this audition I was supposed to see her off to, but I ended up falling asleep when my buddy came by to take her," he recalls clearly. "I went bat shit going to ask neighbors and ended up knocking on Steve's door to see if she knew where she was. He opened the door, and the rest is history."

Kate's interest in the story compels more questions. "Love at first sight?"

That's an understatement, but Bucky nods anyway. "I'm totally convinced I was in love with him when we kissed on our second date. We'd only known each other barely three weeks, but it was one of those fairy tale things where you finally find the prince after kissing so many frogs."

That analogy puts some aspects into perspective; Steve could say the same about Bucky involving his passed relationships. Bucky's proud of the comparison he's made and it shows with how hard he's still grinning. Kate returns the expression and stands from the edge of the desk with flawless ladylike poise.

"Must be nice," she sing songs. "How long have you guys been together anyway?"

"We began dating, like, two weeks after meeting at the end of August - maybe the beginning of September - but the boyfriend title didn't come into play till October. So, somewhere between five or six months," he explains while his phone buzzes again, displaying a text of Steve's lunch order. He tucks his phone back into his pocket before getting an idea. "When's your lunch break?"

Kate brings her wrist to her face to read the time off of her designer watch. "Ten minutes or so."

"Think you'd wanna come pick up some lunch with me? I figure I owe you a truce meal."

"Truce," she mutters under her breath comically, making Bucky giggle. "Can we take a rain check? I kinda got a lunch date with this cute little receptionist I've had my eye on."

Bucky's eyebrows fly upward as he gathers his jacket and slips it on before patting the pockets for his wallet. "Wait, so Steve _wasn't_ kidding? You've got a crush on Darcy?"

Kate sighs in feigned annoyance and rolls her brown eyes with exaggerated despair. "Oh, I know I'm only setting myself up crushing on a straight girl, but I love torture. Just being around her just makes me happy, y'know, and if all we'll ever be is friends who make out when we've had too much to drink than I'll be okay with that."

"Well, if it means anything, I thought Steve was straight when I met him," he reveals sheepishly while twirling his visitor's pass on his flesh index finger on his way out of the office. Kate follows and shuts the door behind them quietly.

"All I can do is hope, James," she whispers wistfully so that the topic herself doesn't hear when she approaches the two of them with a contagious smile to match her upbeat personality.

"Hey, lunch buddy," Darcy chirps, taking Kate's hand in her own and squeezing. Bucky swears he hears Kate's soul exit her body in the tiny gasp that squeaks from the back of her throat.

"Are you enjoying bring-your-beau-to-work day?" she directs the question at Bucky who is focused and slightly amused by how cutely Kate is blushing and internally dying at just holding the brunette's hand.

"I am, actually," Bucky answers with a wiggle of his eyebrows. "I'd be enjoying it even more if I had my blond love interest counterpart to go to lunch with like you do."He says it slyly, winking at Kate when Darcy laughs with her head thrown back at his observation of the similarities.

For good measure, he adds, "Ever notice how in most mainstream media, it's the blonds and brunettes who usually make the best couples? Y'know like Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, Kristin Wiig and Maya Rudolph, or maybe Max and Caroline from _2 Broke Girls_! Ah, and those two girls from _Once Upon a Time_! The list goes on, ladies."

"I see no lies," Darcy agrees. "You and Steve are a good example, too."

With a fake snarl, Bucky purses his lips and waves a hand dismissively in the air. "Yeah, we're okay," he mumbles. "Anyway, where'r you guys going for lunch?"

"As delicious as S.H.E.I.L.D's gourmet cafeteria food is, my blondie and I are gonna probably gonna go hit up a food truck and day drink 'cus we're classy like that. You?"

"Going to this Italian place a few blocks from here to bring back for Steve after his meeting," he answers, guiding them towards the elevator near Darcy's desk. They enter the empty elevator, and Darcy presses the button to the lobby. On the way down, before parting ways, Darcy only slightly teases Bucky about Sci-Con and it stays on his mind the entire time he takes Black Panther to Natalia's to pick up their takeout lunch - Bucky got his usual spaghetti and meatballs dish while Steve opted for a mellow mushroom calzone and slices of red velvet cheesecake for dessert - and returns back into the building without a problem when flashing front desk security his visitor's pass.

When he gets back to the office, Steve still isn't out of his meeting so he spreads the food on the coffee table and waits to eat by going through the Netflix selection for a movie he deemed as good background noise. It takes half an episode of _Bob's Burgers_ for Steve to come back with a cheeky smirk and a tender kiss for Bucky.

"I'm guessing the meeting went well," Bucky suggests as he lifts himself off the coach just enough for Steve to settle under him comfortably. Half the calzone already being chewed in his mouth, Steve hums a response and swallows.

"Meeting went great. Sorry for taking so long. Fury tends to stall for dramatics, but we were discussing Sci-Con."

"What about Sci-Con?" Bucky leans upward to look at him, spaghetti forgotten on the coffee table. "What'd they say?"

With a satisfied laugh, Steve nods to himself and hums some more. "I don't mean to brag, but your man kinda sorta maybe earned himself a booth this year for the fourteenth and fifteenth."

"_No_ way."

"_Yes_ way."

Bucky analyzes his face closely and when detects no traces of Steve kidding, he practically flies into his man's arms to grant him a congratulatory hug with a squeal to match.

"Oh my goodness, baby, _that's amazing_!" He squeezes only slightly around his neck so not to hurt him with the metal arm and holds him close. Steve hugs back with some breathless laughs of his own and squeezes back with the same amount of pressure. "_Oh_, I'm so proud of you. _So damn proud of you_."

"Thanks, baby." Steve kisses his temple before releasing from the hug and running his fingers through Bucky's hair. "It's absolutely perfect how our anniversary is the day before Valentine's Day."

"An entire weekend of romance," Bucky thinks aloud, lip curling in mock disgust at the notion when in reality his insides are fluttering and jumbling at the thought of spending a weekend dedicated to their relationship away with Steve. "Lovely."

Steve pecks the snarl away and tugs Bucky's bottom lip between his front teeth. "You love it," he states obviously. "Our flight to BWI leaves the twelfth, I have to do a little set up for the convention the morning of the thirteenth, but that night I'm all yours. Valentine's Day and the fifteenth we go to the convention and take a red eye back home afterwards to be back in New York by the sixteenth. Sound pretty good?"

With the weekend all laid out like that, it all sounds just as perfect as Bucky'd imagined it'll be. Just while he's nodding, a harsh reminder of how their last vacation went conjured its slick way into the happy images in his head brought on by Valentine's Day weekend. Although the frown is subtle, Steve catches it quickly enough and lifts his dipping chin up to meet their eyes.

"I know that look. What's the matter, babe? You don't wanna go anymore?"

He's asking so gingerly. It could make Bucky weep, but instead he just shakes his head slightly and lets his eyes gaze casually over everything else in the room to avoid that kicked puppy look Steve should patent. He almost feels foolish to even say something, but it's because of that vacation that they have majority of their issues aired out and solved, so he clears his throat and sighs.

"What if it ends up like the last time we went on vacation? All we did was argue, fuss, and get at each other in the Bahamas, Steve."

Steve's face drops too, but be just shakes his head as though to shake the bad outweighing the good from their time on the island. "It's our anniversary. That weekend is gonna be about us having a good time. I promise."

"Just cus it's our anniversary doesn't mean it won't end in a fight _somehow_. One of us will find _something_ to bitch about and-"

"No, don't think like that," Steve advises him and takes another bite of his calzone. Mouth half full, he continues with, "Don't put it in the air. We're gonna have a romantic, nerdy, great time that weekend. I promise. I swear on my Ma, God rest her soul."

Bucky shrugs nonchalantly with an easygoing to hide his impending worry and balances his tin foil bowl of spaghetti In one palm while he swirls the noodles on the plastic fork with the other. Before putting the food into his mouth, he glances back at Steve for a second and takes one solitary noodle from the fork and puts one end in his mouth.

"Remember our second date?"

Steve's attention draws away from the calzone to Bucky's expecting stare. He manages a smirk and finishes chewing before taking the other end of the noodle into his mouth and nibbling delicately till meeting Bucky in the middle and pressing their lips together.

"I'm suddenly in the mood to watch that movie," Steve utters with their lips barely an inch apart. He kisses him, but instead of a simple press to the lips, it's intertwining tongues, passionate nips, and amused moans. Lunch is only halfway finished before the two of them find themselves laid out on the couch, barely watching the movie on the TV and dedicating careless amounts of attentions to making the other feel just as good as they had the first time they had sex in Steve's office.

* * *

Carter, being the loving being she is, had no problem staying with Darcy for the second time in less than two months. As she gets older, Carter finds herself moderately okay with being separated from her father.

The same _cannot_ be said for Mischka.

When Steve and Bucky sat the child down to explain that she'll be with Uncle Clint and his family for four days in February, she took it as a joke, laughed at the proposition, and fell right asleep on Steve's couch. Every few days leading up to the trip to DC, Bucky would casually mention or remind her that she'd be spending that weekend away from them. Majority of the times he talked about it she would ignore him or grimaced at how far he seemed to be taking the joke.

Reality struck her like a taser to the chest when she walked in on them packing their suitcases the night of the eleventh. Instantaneously, she began to cry and swore on ballet itself that Bucky and Steve were leaving her out of the trip to be mean, and it took hours of coaxing and apologizing for missing Valentine's Day for her to calm down and understand that Steve is leaving for work and that Bucky had always wanted to go on a trip like this.

"It's a grown up thing, Mischka," he explained patiently, on his knees, holding her miniature hands in his metal one. "Remember when we were telling you about two people in love doing grown up things? Taking trips and stuff is part of that - Stevie and I just wanted to spend Valentine's Day alone to do grown up things, _not_ because we don't love you."

It broke Steve's heart at how she stared at them after he said that like she was betrayed and confused. Considering she's never been separated from them that long in the time Steve and Bucky began dating, it's understandable as to why she'd be sensitive. More than anything, she's protective over Bucky with all they've been through together. It's difficult to not wanna protect Bucky being as though he's a precious nugget who has already endured enough in his short life and it's damn time someone took care of him.

"Make sure Daddy has a good time, Stevie," she firmly instructed him before leaving with Bucky to go to Clint's house. "I love you."

"I love you, too, kid," he said faithfully and kissed her face probably a thousand times before she follows Bucky out the apartment. "Happy Valentine's Day."

Bucky didn't sleep that well that night and checked in on his daughter every hour on the hour obsessively till Steve patiently distracted him with a movie and cuddling on the couch. Even after they fell asleep at two in the morning, Bucky was up at three, pacing and busying himself with a song.

"Anything new?" Steve asks from his slumped position into the music filled darkness.

Bucky stops the chord he's playing to answer back, "Nothing good. I'm usually better at this when I have Dum Dum to help."

"You've written tons of songs just fine without anyone's help."

"Yeah, but it seems different now."

"Different _because_...?"

Bucky strums a miscellaneous tune once more and sighs. "Different because I'm not writing for anything this time. Gabe would always want a new song every two weeks and know that I'm not working for the 107th anymore, I have no motivation to write, y'know? Don't get me wrong - I love writing and making music, but _this_," he pauses to find a suitable word, "this rough patch I'm going through with it might be a while."

Steve turns in his spot on the couch to look at his fallen face being dragged down by his frown. Steve matches the expression and reaches out for him over the back of the furniture. "C'mere, love."

Bucky obeys and has a seat next to Steve after setting his guitar on its stand. "You'll find motivation again soon. I promise. Your mind's clogged with a lotta shit right now. You just cut ties with one of your closest friends, so it's understandable that you can't put those thoughts and feelings on paper yet."

Bucky nods in agreement. "It was a long time coming but it still hurts. Ever since I brought you to the 107th and made it well known that we're dating, he had been treating me differently - almost like we were strangers."

_Petty_, Steve hisses in his head.

"You may not have known him, but he definitely remembered you and didn't try to salvage our friendship even after I connected the damn dots about him and Peggy," Bucky continues with a shrug. "After he stopped caring, I did, too. I at least tried to make it work even though he's a part of the reason why you're in so much pain all the time, but if you hadn't noticed, I'm nuts about you. It was a matter of time till my gasket blew, and Gabe and I had it out."

"You two would still be friends if I hadn't told you that story," Steve groans, the guilt washing over him one harsh wave after another.

"I wanted to beat Gabe's ass even before the story. No one fucks with my baby and goes unchecked," he says seriously despite how giddy it makes Steve to be referred to as Bucky's baby.

As much as he likes Bucky being this protective and noble, he doesn't let that blind him from what's plainly obvious as shown in Bucky's mask of uncaring superiority over the ordeal in front of that sad defeated tone. "You miss him," Steve announces, and doesn't even get jealous when Bucky nods without hesitation.

"He was my friend. My brother, practically."

Steve has no idea what the fuck he'd do if Bucky and Sam were in this position. A strong part of him would pick Sam given all their history and brotherly moments Bucky's thinking of. Then another part - maybe a part a fraction stronger than Sam's part - would choose Bucky simply because he's the man of his dreams and has waited too long for him to enter his life.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Steve sympathizes, wrapping his arms around Bucky to pull him into his lap safely. "This must be so hard for you, Bucky. What can I do to make it better?"

Bucky doesn't fight the contact and allows himself to be held since having Steve's skin on his is a warm reminder that he's safe, loved, and kept in company that won't hurt him. His question lingers and bounces off the walls of his mind, echoing and taunting him.

_Tell me you love me. That'll make all this better. That'll make all this worth it - tell me you love me so I don't feel like a fucking idiot for ending this friendship. _He swallows and shakes his head in Steve's lap. "I'm not gonna let him ruin our weekend," Bucky decides, shaking his head. "We've talked about him enough as it is. We need to get to bed."

* * *

The two of them did manage to get to bed at a decent enough time to get sleep and awake the following morning to take a cab to the airport. The airport experience for Steve this time around didn't make him as anxious as before even though they're not landing in paradise this time. The flight was maybe an hour and some minutes to which the two of them napped the whole time. The clock struck noon when Steve and Bucky exit their cab at the Omni Shoreham Hotel entrance and enter. Being veterans, they'd been to Washington DC more times than either care to count, making it like a home away from home. Aside from that, Sam was born and bred here before moving to New York, and Steve makes a mental note to visit Mrs. Wilson before leaving.

"We apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Rogers, but seeing as though you're approximately two hours early for check-in, the suite your company rep booked you isn't ready," the polite, red-headed receptionist explains to Steve when she pulls up his reservation for two on the computer. Her eccentric brown eyes practically lit up the second she saw him enter the lobby and haven't dimmed once since they began talking even when Bucky took notice of her dazzled reaction and wrapped an arm around Steve's waist protectively.

Steve sighs and looks to her then Bucky before wiggling his mouth around for a response. He'd really prefer to lay down now rather than wait two hours, and the tiredness on Bucky's face says so, too. After a moment, he smiles that stunningly bright toothy smile at the young woman and actually bats his eyelashes.

"Are there _any_ rooms available?" He asks now, and the poor lady doesn't stand a chance against that charming lilt in his voice. "My boyfriend and I are kinda dead on our feet, and really need somewhere to sleep for the time being."

"Oh, that's perfectly understandable!" She squeals in agreement, matching Steve's smile from ear to ear. "I'll just check the system then let you know what's available."

"Thank you..." He pauses to check her name tag. "_Victoria_," he finishes, and the woman all but flies away at how her name sounds coming out of his mouth.

"It's my pleasure," she sighs blissfully before inconspicuously checking Bucky out as well then typing away on the keyboard.

Steve catches it and glances at him out of his peripherals before snickering under his breath and about facing to rest his back on the counter. "She's looking at you like she wants you to get on one knee," he mutters lowly under the loud typing. Bucky, still facing forward, glances at her with a lifted eyebrow and bites his tongue over a chuckle when she averts her eyes from examining him back to her computer screen.

"Could say the same about you," Bucky whispers back and rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance.

"Mr. Rogers," Victoria says, interrupting Steve's train of thought as he spins back around to listen. "I have a few rooms open, but they're only available till tonight. I figure it wouldn't be too much of a hassle to switch to your booked room after you guys have rested up, yeah?"

Bucky sighs with relief at the idea of sleeping, but before he can celebrate at her suggestion, Steve chimes in with a suggestion of his own.

"What about the honeymoon suite?"

Victoria and Bucky momentarily freeze before quizzically and simultaneously staring at Steve who ignores their confusion and awaits an answer.

"Well, it _is_ Valentine's Day weekend, Mr. Rogers, and our honeymoon suite has been booked for a while now," she explains simply.

"Babe, it's okay. We can wait out two hours for our room," Bucky adds, nodding in agreement with Victoria. It's clear Steve isn't fond of that idea, so he maintains his anxiousness and checks his surroundings for a distraction.

"Hey, Buck, do you mind getting me a soda from the vending machine?" Steve asks sweetly, nodding in the direction of the vending machine stationed at the bar entrance. "We can go up to our room when you get back."

Shrugging without care or complaint at the out of the context request, Bucky nods and takes off to the machine, kissing Steve's cheek as he does. Once he's out of earshot, Steve turns back to a fond Victoria.

"What's the closest thing open to the honeymoon suite?" It's our anniversary tomorrow, so I'm just trying to make this special for us," Steve tells her and can't believe he's turning red when he adds, "For _him_."

She grins with a wandering glare in her eyes and appeals to his situation by looking over her shoulder and around for superiors before typing for twenty seconds and lowering her voice to a hushed whisper. "We're not allowed to book our presidential penthouse suite unless it's for our VIP clientele, but you seem pretty VIP to me, Mr. Rogers seeing as though your reservation shows you've a booth at Sci-Con."

With the world's most grateful smile, Steve makes a victorious sound and and thanks her profusely as she types away. "Thank you so much. I appreciate this more than you can even imagine."

"You can thank me by promising that neither Falcon or Hawkeye get with The Black Widow in the next issue of _Bird Bros,_ Mr. Rogers."

"You read the comic?" He asks, stunned and excited at the mention of his work.

"Religiously. I would be going to the convention, but I'm gonna be here doing a double shift."

With a frown, Steve sucks his teeth and shakes his head. "Shame. I'd love to see you at my booth."

"I'm sure it'll be full without me, Mr. Rogers," she winks just before Bucky wraps his metallic arm around Steve's waist and hands him the bottle of Coke.

"These are your room keys." Victoria hands them each an enveloped gold room card before doing more typing on the desktop. "Your scheduled for a four day, three night stay, is that correct?"

Bucky nods and eyeballs the hell out of his gold card whilst comparing it to other guests receiving white ones as they get checked in. "Yes, that's correct," he says.

"Your check-out time will be 6 o' clock, Sunday night," she informs them cheerfully. "Is there anything else I can assist you gentlemen with this afternoon?"

Steve shakes his head and pockets his card before taking hold of his and Bucky's luggage to hand to an awaiting bellhop. "No, that's all for now. Thank you so much, Victoria."

"No problem! Please enjoy your stay at the Omni Shoreham!" She waves with more excitement required of a receptionist as they follow the bellhop to the elevator. Steve waves back then takes Bucky's flesh hand into his own, entirely ignoring the suspicious glare Bucky's boring into the side of his head.

The younger man waits till they're alone in the presidential suite on the top floor surrounded by luxuries such as a kitchen, a sitting area, a fifty-inch flat screen television mounted on a wall in each room, a bar, and a balcony overlooking DC to put his hands on hips and piece everything together.

"Please tell me this isn't our room," he snickers, unbelieving as he ventures further into their temporary space with a wonder struck expression on his beautiful face. "You didn't."

"Well, no and yes."

"_Steve_."

"Well, it's on S.H.I.E.L.D's dime - not mine. Fury owes us a vacation for giving me that awful promotion that took me away from my Bucky all day," he's cooing that last part childishly as he traipses casually over to Bucky and snuggles his neck like an animal searching for warmth.

"I would've been perfectly fine with waiting for our room to be ready," Bucky insists, obviously impressed by his surroundings and leaning into the affection like he needs it to live.

"It's our anniversary along with our first Valentine's Day. I wanted something special for us. Nothing but the best for _my_ guy." He kisses a trail from behind Bucky's ear to the base of his neck where his bun neatly sits.

"My gift kinda suck in comparison to all this," Bucky mumbles, reaching behind him to run his fingernails into the buzzed area of Steve's haircut, teasing the tiny strands as well as his scalp, getting the blond to purr into Bucky's ear.

"Whatever it is, I can guarantee it's amazing," he assures his boyfriend, kissing his neck again. "I'm gonna shower then take a nap. You're welcome to join me for either."

It takes effort for them to actually separate from their spot in the middle of the suite for the afternoon. While Steve takes a lengthy shower in the industrially designed and expansive bathroom, Bucky wastes zero time in the exploring the room and marveling at the nooks and crannies he finds. After a period of exploration, he plops onto the massive bed and surfs channels given this hotel has cable. The place almost reminds him of their room at the beach mansion.

"Shit, look at all these movies, Stevie," Bucky calls across the suite when he hears the water stop and Steve's footsteps on the carpet.

"Pick something out," he responds as he wipes his nude body dry with the fluffy towel provided in the bathroom. "We can order room service or we can go out somewhere to get something to eat. Whatever you want."

"I couldn't leave this bed even if I wanted to."

"Room service it is. We have tomorrow and Valentine's Day to eat out."

"Very true," Bucky utters as he stretches out like a cat getting comfortable, extending his long limbs to each corner of the king-sized bed with a yawn and tremor throughout his form before he flops back down onto the mattress. "What do you wanna watch?"

"Something romantic for Valentine's weekend." Steve enters the bedroom, towel tied low on his hips as he rummages through his half ass packed suitcase for lounge clothes.

Bucky aims the buttons he's pressing on the remote at the TV to search through the romantic section of onDemand. "We've got _The Fault in Our Stars_, all five _Twilight_ movies, _How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days_,_ Dear John_, um," he mumbles and glances at Steve. "Any of these doing it for you?"

Steve pulls on a pair of joggers sweatpants he's sure are Bucky's and a black t-shirt. "Well, since we probably won't be leaving the room, we can do a _Twilight_ marathon for the night."

"Fun," Bucky snorts sarcastically as he presses more buttons on the remote and tosses it across the bed when the production company logo appears on the screen.

"Oh, c'mon. Peggy read those books and she loved 'em."

"Yeah, so did Nat," he groans. "She dragged me to every one of these movies up until she died. I would've seen the fourth one but it wasn't the same without her."

"Yeah? You're sure you wanna watch this?" He asks to be sure as he crawls to Bucky's side and tucks himself into his armpit, adjusting just enough to see the TV screen.

"Oh, I'll be fine. What about you?"

"Well, Peggy left before the first film even made it to theaters and we'd always planned to see them together but, like you said, it's not the same," he explains then rolls his eyes at his tone before adding, "Not that what happened with Nat is comparable to-"

"No, I get it," Bucky assures him and points to the television. "So, you haven't seen any of them? Do you know what it's about?"

"Sparkly vampires."

With a laugh, Bucky nods his head. "Essentially. It's a little deeper than that, but it's damn close."

Much like their Disney movie marathon, Steve is utterly lost and trying his hardest to follow along with the plot of each film with minimal interruptions. Twenty minutes into the first one, he gathers the basics and notes tiny details that must've been explained in the book. Whatever he did understand of the first two movies persuaded him to pick between who was better suited for Bella between Edward or Jacob - (_"Well, the wolf kid kinda seems like an entitled dick, but he was there for her when Edward left. However, the vampire can do more for her, like, keep her safer, yeah? He seems to really love her."_) - by the beginning of the third movie, _Eclipse_.

During the honeymoon montage of the fourth film is when Bucky's stomach growls aloud into the nearly silent suite, and Steve pauses the movie to turn on the bedside lamp and search for a room service menu.

"Oh, c'mon, Steve, let's just finish the movie then we can eat," he protests meekly, pressing a button on the remote to resume the movie but goes ignored when Steve tosses the menu at him.

Their food arrives by the time Bella is giving birth, which had both of their hearts stuttering and eyes glued to the screen in anticipation of the action unfolding. Their neighbors would've thought they were watching a football game by how hyped and excited they sounded to watch a vampire try to revive his dead human wife after just giving birth to what they'll assume is a baby. Neither men will admit to crying at that scene.

Completely invested_,_ they finish the fifth film by ten that night and clap at the finale; It was well worth the wait of watching the movies with each other rather than with Nat, Peggy, or by themselves.

"I'm wide awake for some reason," Bucky announces when the final credits finish. He briskly swirls on his side to display himself seductively. "Let's have sex."

"I miss the days when you'd at least try to woo me off my feet," Steve retaliates sarcastically as he checks his phone watch. "It's getting kinda late, though. I gotta be up at nine to go to the convention center to put up my booth."

"What a way to start our anniversary."

"I'm all yours after. I'm sure you'll be able to find something to do in DC for a few hours."

Bucky groans and dramatically lays there lifelessly except for the doe eyes he's shooting Steve's way. "So, no sex?"

Even though Steve knows he's partially kidding, he still shrugs and without warning or preamble gracefully swings one leg around Bucky's waist to be kneeling his full weight into the mattress. Taken off guard but satisfied, Bucky meets him halfway with rushed kisses of his own that end in loud suction popping noises and greedy moans to fill the suite.

* * *

The following morning, Bucky awakes before Steve with sleep crust clogging the corners of his eyes and breath so hot it's making him uncomfortable. For only a second, he can't recall his surrounding till he remembers he's not in Brooklyn and the subtle dim sunlight peaking through the tugged together curtains isn't shining in on either his or Steve's bedroom, but the presidential suite of a luxurious hotel that his amazing boyfriend booked them.

With that in mind, he also remembers it's their anniversary; Their official five months feels more like five _years_, and that helps Bucky not feel so much like a fool when he recalls how in love he is with the angel snoring away to his left. It's just details that he fell in love before they even properly knew each other - poor sucker never stood a chance against Steve.

Reaching around his boyfriend's sleeping form, he gets hold of Steve's cell phone, types in the pass code - it's Sarah's birthday - and disables the alarm set for seven-thirty. It's fifteen minutes till, and on the morning of their anniversary, Steve deserves a better wake up call than a digital bell ringing.

Bucky palms Steve's flaccid dick and begins stroking it to hardness, receiving barely a stir from Steve when he's fully erect. With a peck as light as air planted on his cheek, Steve inhales and exhales soothingly as Bucky removes the comforter to reveal the hard length of Steve to the brisk air of the room.

"_So_ _fucking pretty_." Bucky admires his man's penis with hearts in his eyes and a watering mouth, gripping it at the base and holding it upwards to further fawn over it like it's the greatest cock he's _ever_ seen in his life - well,_ it is._ It's not the biggest or thickest Bucky's ever had but _it is_ the greatest simply because _it's Steve's_ and it belongs to Bucky in all the right contexts. The amount of times he's cried, fought, and rejoiced over this cock and the man attached to it is a number he doesn't mind. He'd do _anything_ for this cock - _anything_ for Steve.

Even if Steve were impotent and had a dick barely big enough to please Bucky, he'd love it and cherish it like it were the last dick on Earth just because it's Steve's.

"I love you," he whispers at the slit, his tongue flirting with the opening, little by little taking more into his mouth when Steve sighs contently, still dreaming away and unaware that Bucky's between his legs.

Mouth spread obscenely wide to take Steve's girth, Bucky's head bobs back and forth, lips dragging against the length all the while slicking the skin with saliva leaking out of his mouth. His hands wander on their own to caress the expanse of Steve's lower half, massaging his abdomen and hips with as much love possible. Sucking harder, he feels his own dick twitch with interest at the antics its owner is up to.

Like the true slut he is, he lets Steve's tip hit the back of his throat till he produces enough spit to be outright slobbering on the cock. His hands instinctively grip Steve's thighs to steady himself as he licks, sucks, and damn near fucks his own mouth on Steve's dick or rather _Cap_, as he so graciously named it.

"_Shit_," Steve's murmuring above him, and his eyes flicks upward to witness the blissed out expression forming on Steve's face of shut eyes, eyebrows knit upward and wiggling upward in the middle to his damp forehead, flushed cheeks, and the miniature O shape of his plump mouth. Along with that, he's tugging the sheets into a vice tight fist with one hand while the other is occupied with tweaking one of his nipples.

The moans generating from Steve's chest are thunderous and shake Bucky to his core, making his cock do a little dance of excitement. He submits to the ache between his legs and grinds helplessly on the bed, chasing friction just enough to please himself while he continues to go down on Steve.

"_Bucky_," he whines, eyes barely opening to peek down at his enthusiastic boyfriend's lips wrapped around the circumference of his cock, doing such a good job that Steve can't even see straight. "_Fuck_, you're _so_ _good_ to me..."

"Happy anniversary, Sir." The mere seconds it took for Bucky to say that are seconds too long for Steve judging by the impatience chase of his hips thrusting his dick back into Bucky's mouth. If he could, Bucky'd be smiling but instead hollows out his cheeks to let his tongue swirl in wet circles around Steve's tip.

The moans from each end grow more and more intense by the second. Steve's cock disappears and reappears out his mouth at a pace too much for Steve to handle if he doesn't wanna orgasm soon. He whimpers and even grasps Bucky's hair as tight as he is the bed sheet, but doesn't have the strength to tell him to stop so he can properly fuck him. As nice as it is to do so, he doesn't wanna come in Bucky's mouth this morning - he really needs his ass.

However, their condoms are in the suitcases and there's no way in hell Steve is stopping this to get a fucking condom. He'd like to come right in Bucky's ass, but he has Bucky to consider. They'd never discussed doing anything without protection, and Steve didn't wanna risk hurting his feelings by barely making it out of his hole when he ejaculates. He'd learned from observation that as freaky as Bucky is, he does not like to be came on. He can handle it in his mouth or in the condom, but Steve'll never forget how guilty he'd felt when coming on Bucky that first time in his office.

"_Oh, my fucking God,_" he curses vulgarly, panting into the cool air of the hotel room with labored attempts to catch his breath. "_Oh_, Bucky..."

"That's right," Bucky teases, cupping Steve's balls gingerly with his metal hand to massage the sensitive area. "Say my name, sir."

"Buck...Bucky..._ah, shit_..."

Bucky mercilessly keeps sucking even when Steve's uttering for him to stop or slow down so he can get himself under control with not coming too soon. Ready to bring him to the brink of losing his mind with this orgasm, Bucky takes engulfs the entire cock within the confines of his mouth, nose tickled by the array of groomed pubic hairs at Steve's base. Determined even with his eyes reddening and watering from the pressure of his jaw being stretched as wide as it is, he doesn't even think to remove himself until Steve's actually hollering in delight at the sensation of being deep throated. To make the experience less painful, he shuts his eyes slowly and hums to himself in victory when the first spurt of Steve's ejaculation goes off in his mouth. It's just as sweet and creamy as usual, so he pulls his head away to lick at the mess they'd made.

Even after Steve has calmed down from his high, he's shuddering and petting Bucky's face. "C'mere," he instructs breathlessly, eyes closed and grinning like an idiot in love. "Come to me, baby. Come lay with me."

Wiping the corners of his mouth from excess ejaculate, Bucky sheepishly beams at him and sluggishly makes his way back to Steve's side. "_Oof_," is the sound that leaves his throat when he's forced into a spooning position with Steve entire weight atop of him. He can't help laughing when Steve's in his neck, tickling him and making him twitch involuntarily.

"What'd I do to deserve such a beautiful, little boy like you to wake me up with head, hmm? Is it a special event?" Steve feigns ignorant for a second before nibbling his earlobe between his two front teeth. "Oh, that's right - it's our anniversary. Only been five months, and I'm this crazy about you."

"Anything for my man."

"I really wish I could take you with me today."

Bucky sighs and strokes the hairs sticking up from Steve's arm. "I'll find something to do today. You don't gotta worry bout me, baby. Just be here by dinner time 'cus cha'boy is taking you out."

"You don't have to-"

"You can wine and dine me tomorrow night. Plus, I owe you for taking me on this trip as well as getting us this room."

"You know I'd do anything for you." He pecks Bucky's temple gently before cuddling him closer. "What time is dinner?"

"I was thinking seven. I'll find a really nice place for us to go."

"Sounds romantic. Can we watch _Twilight_ again?"

"If you want."

Steve attacks Bucky's face with even more kisses, exaggerated the sounds emitting from him to the point where Bucky's rolling his eyes at how corny this guy is. "Oh, and by the way, I've already got tomorrow night planned out."

Before Bucky can respond, the backup alarm set for seven-forty on Steve's phone chimes with an echo, eliciting a frustrated groan from both men.

"Don't get up. Don't leave this bed. Keep cuddling me until it's time to go to dinner."

"Wish I could, love, but this is a business trip," he jokes lightly, spanking Bucky's bare ass with a tap of his fingers as he detaches his body from Bucky's. "And I'm off to do business."

"Business, my ass."

That quip earns him a sharp spank this time, making him yelp shrilly and jerk to the other side of the bed, metal hand covering his ass to soothe the sting.

"Fucking asshole!" Bucky yells after him on his way to the bathroom and receives a loving middle finger in return.

In the half an hour it's taking Steve to get ready, Bucky scrolls his phone for activities in DC to keep him occupied for the day. He'd seen all the monuments, walked the National Mall, and been to the museums and in the few times he's been here before - it'd be easier if Mischka was with him. She'd only been two or so when he'd taken her on an outing to the Smithsonian then the zoo, but it was a nice time for them both even if she doesn't remember.

It was one of the few days after Natasha passed that Bucky didn't feel like it was his fault.

With a quick swipe or his thumb, he exits the browser and opens FaceTime to call Clint. The phone rings twice before the call connects and just as he'd wanted, his daughter's face is the first thing he sees.

"Hi, Daddy!" She exclaims, waving into the phone's camera excitedly with one hand while it wobbles unstable in the other. "I miss you!"

"I miss you, too, doll," he sighs, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face; a haircut is definitely in order. "Where's Uncle Clint?"

"He's making breakfast with Auntie Laura and told me to answer the phone 'cus it was you calling," she explains simply and travels down what looks like the hallway leading to Clint's guest room, away from the noise and commotion of Callum, Nicole, and baby Nathaniel. "We're having pancakes with peach jam. Wanna see my outfit for school today?"

"Sure."

After she flips the camera around, Bucky takes in the black jeans and white fluffy turtleneck sweater laid out on the guest bed with a nod of approval. "You pick that out yourself?"

"Of course, I did!" She turns the camera back to herself, giving Bucky a clear shot up her nose and a good laugh. "Are you having fun, Daddy?"

Bucky rolls over with a yawn and a nod. "I am, sweetie. Stevie and I watched _Twilight_ last night."

"Uncle Clint has the _Twilight_ movies, but he tells people they're Auntie Laura's," she tells him nonchalantly, and he wishes he could store it for ammunition next time Clint tries to roast him, but he'd be a hypocrite since he ended up really liking those movies himself. "Where's Stevie?"

"He's in the shower. He's getting ready to do work," Bucky says the last part childishly before grimacing. "He misses you, too."

"I miss him. I miss Carter more," she confesses, setting the phone down on the dresser, facing upward so all Bucky has sight of is the ceiling fan. "When are you guys coming home?"

"Two more days, and we'll be back in Brooklyn."

"We're gonna miss Valentine's Day tomorrow."

"Steve and I will call you to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day. You know we can't forget our best girl on the day of love."

The child doesn't answer immediately, but eventually huff off camera without another words.

"Wanna tell Daddy what's really bothering you?"

The frown presented before him is heartbreaking when she lifts the camera back to her face. "Is Stevie your new Valentine?" she asks curiously.

Before answering, Bucky cocks his head sideways in confusion. "Whaddyou mean?"

"I've been your Valentine since Mommy left. You and Stevie are together like you and Mommy were, so does that mean he's your new Valentine and I'm not?"

"Doll, you'll always be my Valentine. Even when you're married and I'll wonder if you're still my Valentine, I'll still be yours."

"Really?" Her smile is wide and bright enough to compete with the rising sun outside the hotel window.

"Yes. Always. Do you think you're okay with Stevie also being my Valentine this year? He hasn't had one in a long time, and I think it's only fair that I be his."

Mischka pretends to think about it with a hand to her chin and nods enthusiastically at him. "Yeah. Okay, Daddy!"

"That's my girl."

Without warning, the thumping of children's feet emit from her end of the call and Callum, Clint's eight year old, appears with a grin missing teeth.

"Hi, Uncle Bucky!"

"Hey, Cal. Where's Nicki?"

"She's getting ready for school," he answers then refers to Mischka. "Dad says breakfast is ready."

"You better go eat up, doll," Bucky advises, climbing out of bed when the digital clock strike ten till eight. "Have fun at school today and call me when you get home. Tell Uncle Clint I'll call him later."

"Yes, Daddy," she says, blowing a kiss to the camera and he catches it. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Я с вами до конца строки."

"до конца строки."

Bucky waits until she ends the call to put his phone down and start his day. He pulls on a random pair of boxers strewn on the carpet before opening the curtains to let light in. When he spins to go to the bathroom, Steve is standing there, dressed casually in a pair of black denim jeans and a navy cashmere sweater that accentuates those rare flicks of green in his deep blue eyes. He's staring down at two pairs of boots, hands on his hips in deliberation.

Bucky uses his foot to edge the black pair closer to him then kisses his cheek on his way to the bathroom.

By the time Bucky exits the bathroom from his shower, Steve's on his way out. With a passionate kiss and a promise to be back into the room to meet him for dinner, he's off to the convention center barely twenty minutes away. Once he's by himself, Bucky's back on his phone looking for things to do while he dries out his ears with a fluffy towel.

The first place he takes a cab to is a supermarket to acquire candy, a thoughtful card, candles, and synthetic rose petals from the advertised Valentine's Day aisles.

"Special day planned, son?" The elderly cashier asks him when it's his turn in line at the checkout. He knows the gentlemen is being sarcastic since tomorrow's Valentine's Day, but Bucky smiles and nods anyway as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket.

"Today's actually my five month anniversary," he responds, swiping his card into the slot of the machine then tucking it back into his wallet. "So, I guess you could say it's special."

"Ah, lucky lady!"

With a smirk, Bucky nods to more himself than the cashier with a shrug. "I'm the lucky one," he responds but musters enough courage to say "_I'm also the lady_" to himself.

"Come again, son?"

"Nothing, sir! Happy Valentine's Day!"

With that, he takes his receipt and jumbles it into his plastic bag of goodies for the night. Swooning like a teenager, Bucky strolls the downtown streets of DC, poking his head into random shops to see what he could find for the night. The culture and people he sees are the likes of the Bahamas with hair salons dedicated specially for braiding hair, spicy fast food takeout , and island music playing even thought it's a solid forty degrees outside. He smiles at the scenery, happy to be in this part of DC rather than near the monuments; this part felt like home.

Once he'd made his rounds with getting their evening planned, Bucky took a cab back to the hotel before Steve and made their dinner reservations. It was nearing five already, so he took the liberty of taking another shower, thoroughly washing his hair this time with the sample bottles of shampoo and conditioner. It only dawns on him to get a haircut when he's blowing his wet hair out with the hotel's hair dryer and his arms get tired.

"Honey, I'm home," Steve calls out comically when he lets himself into the suite at five-thirty on the dot.

"In here!" Bucky responds back, preoccupied with carding product through his scalp and roots to tame its natural fluffiness. Through the mirror, Bucky sees Steve enter the bathroom with a colorful bouquet of white, red, and pink roses leading the way. He whips about himself immediately to assure it's real and smiles softly at his boyfriend before approaching him excitedly.

"Ah, baby. These for me?" It's silly to ask even as he holds his hands out to take them, but it's nice to hear Steve say is.

"Yes, they are." Steve presents the bouquet to him in the same nervous fashion he had on their second date when he went to the 107th to watch the band. Nothing's changed, and that's the main reason why a bit of nostalgia hits Bucky so hard in the chest that he whines.

"They're beautiful. Thank you, doll."

Steve removes his coat to toss it on the nearest piece of furniture all the while staring deep into Bucky's eyes. "Anything for my favorite boy. Happy anniversary, Bucky."

Those words are already beginning to take such a toll on them both. Some would say it's childish of two grown men to emphasize their monthly anniversary like a couple of teenagers, but it's so appropriate for Steve and Bucky. Neither of them ever had proper relationships to celebrate the minor things like monthly anniversaries; Xavier damn sure wouldn't with Bucky, and Peggy found it childish. It's reassuring to know that they've found someone in each other to enjoy an anniversary that comes every month.

"Happy anniversary, Steve," he parrots sheepishly, refusing to believe he's turning red in the cheeks, neck, and ears. Steve notices and caress his face with careful touches till the red subsides so he can kiss him chastely. "Dinner's at seven, right?"

Bucky nods, breath completely taken away by this fucking guy.

"I'm gonna go change, okay?"

Another nod.

"Then we can leave for dinner, alright? I've got so much to tell you about Sci-Con, it's ridiculous!" He's saying, but it's all becoming a blur for Bucky when he glances down at the roses that overpower anything he's ever felt about anyone - Natasha included. The only other person that Bucky loves more than Steve is Mischka, and that puts everything into a perspective he'd never considered before.

His chest feels tight in the best way not just about the flowers, but everything that he and Steve are and will be.

Steve's mouth is moving to get in the shower, and all he can fathom is how much he loves him. He smiles at Bucky in the middle of a sentence, and at that moment Bucky knew everything he needed to know.

He wants to make love to Steve in a way he _never_ has before.

He wants to be inside of him and be granted permission to do things Steve had never tried before not because Bucky wants him to but because he trusts that Bucky wouldn't hurt him if given the power to fuck him.

The overwhelming gush of emotion he's experiencing at the moment makes him want Steve as his submissive, his baby boy, his bottom. He wanted to see that side of Steve and take care of him in ways that he's not used to. Bucky loves this man more than his own life, and he yearns to pull him apart physically, emotionally, and mentally to show his love and admiration the same way Steve does for him. They'd make such sweet love that it'd make them both cry. It'd be a lie to say that as of lately he hasn't thought about pitching the idea of Steve bottoming, but he's scared that it's a step out of line and that Steve'll freak out on him if he ever even mentioned it.

Burying the idea for now, Bucky tunes out of his own thoughts to pay full attention to Steve.

* * *

They made it to dinner ten minutes before their reservation at a high class seafood restaurant just down the street from the hotel that had Steve eyeballing Bucky about how he could afford dinner for both of them, plus drinks and a cheesecake dessert that melts in both their mouths. He'd clearly underestimated just how much work Bucky had done before meeting him.

In no rush to get back to the hotel after dinner, they take a leisurely stroll around the nearby strip mall hand in hand, absorbed in their own world similar to how they were when they first met. The nightlife of the city put them at ease, making them feel right at home and safe, but by the time midnight rolls around and Steve reminds Bucky that they have to be up early the next morning, they catch a cab back on the hotel.

"Gift time!" Steve announces just when Bucky's getting into his night clothes, earning him a look of confusion and curiosity when he rounds the corner of the living room with a medium sized gift bag decorated with hearts and glitter and white tissue paper protruding outward.

"I thought we weren't opening our gifts until Valentine's Day?"

"Technically it is Valentine's Day as of twenty three minutes ago." He places the gift on Bucky's lap and sits on the coffee table behind him. "Open it."

Doing as he's told, Bucky removes the tissue paper and peeks inside. With a quirk in his eyebrow, he reaches inside the bag and pulls out a deluxe edition copy of The Force Awakens, and the smile forming on his face couldn't be controlled even if he tried.

"Oh, we are _so_ watching this later. Thank you, babe." Bucky's smiling into the kiss he's leaning into and doesn't wanna let go.

When Steve pulls away, his eyes are directed back to the gift bag on Bucky's lap with a mischievous smirk. "There's more."

"You're spoiling me," Bucky insists modestly, digging back into the bag till he finds an enclosed envelope amid the excess tissue paper. He rips two corners of it with his metal fingers and finds Steve's expression too cute no to smile at.

When he peers inside the envelope, he shakes the contents inside out until they land in his hands so he can see just why Steve is so enthusiastic about giving him his gift.

Staring down at the Lana Del Rey concert tickets, Bucky wants to scream and cry at the same time but Steve's kissing him before he can react.

"Before you ask, yes, we're going to see Lana Del Rey this summer," he confirms, tapping the tickets with an index finger. "I'd had my eye on them since you told me you liked her, so this seemed like a perfect way to tell you."

"Stevie..._oh my goodness,_ I've been trying to get a hold of tickets for the New York show for weeks," he confesses, shaking his head in disbelief and shock at this reality. "H-h-how'd you-?"

"Tony gave me a tip about her coming to New York since he runs in some celebrity circles from time to time, and I made it my mission to get the best seats possible before they sold out. I was hesitant about getting them 'cus I didn't know if you were a casual fan or like a super fan like me-"

"Are you kidding?" Bucky interrupts incredulously. "Of course, I'm a super fan. I don't like fucking older men for nothing." The tail end of that statement is uttered innocently for Steve to do with what he wants. He shifts on the coffee table uncomfortably, adjusting his crotch and biting his lip.

"Fucking tease," the blond hisses at him plucking the tickets out his hands to set beside him. "Speaking of fucking older men..."

In the swift moment in takes to lift Bucky clean off his seat to be lifted in the air, those thoughts he was having earlier make a comeback and it reflects in how he's lazily kissing Steve, obviously distracted and sidetracked by his own loud thoughts telling him to pursue the idea of topping Steve.

"What's wrong?"

Bucky _can't_ outright ask him - if they ever do anything like that, Steve would have to be the one to bring it up. It's his body therefor his choice, and Bucky doesn't have the courage to ask of such a sentimental thing of him.

"Nothing."

Steve continues to stare at him before squeezing his ass in his huge palm more to reassure him than to arouse him. "You sure?"

_Let me make love to you..._

"Yes, sir. I'm fine."


	24. 24

Bucky's suddenly calm demeanor about attending Sci-Con for the first time is a major factor to Steve believing that something completely unrelated to the convention is up with him. It didn't make sense how he was an energized puppy about the convention prior to getting here, but the day of he's suddenly so relaxed and nonchalant about the ordeal like he's a casual fan instead of a die hard Star Wars, Breaking Bad, and A Nightmare on Elm Street nerd. Steve didn't bring any attention to his change in behavior, but on the way over to the convention center, he did nudge his boyfriend's shoulder with his own and ask if he is excited. "I'm so proud of you," is Bucky's unrelated response with such a light airiness that sets a calm for the rest of the day. It surprises Steve but he accepts it as a response with Bucky's gloved hand in his and a small smile. Even the taxi driver can't help glancing back at them through the rear view mirror to assure he's not driving around fucking cartoon characters.

Upon arrival at the convention center, Bucky is handed a VIP pass and the two of them are ushered by security down secret passageways and halls to reach the spacious canopy tent decked out in navy, red, and white with the Bird Bros logo Steve had designed plastered on every bit of merchandise. It's empty in the convention hall aside from other artists putting last minute touches on their booths or panels, security, curators, and other employees bustling around to assure everything is set up before the doors open, so when Bucky whistles aloud at the extensive display Sci-Con and SHIELD had provided for his boyfriend, it echoes once or twice along with Steve chuckle of approval.

In the midst of setting up yesterday, Steve eyes glowed the same way Bucky's are now as he stares at the setup with pride and admiration. The space itself is much bigger than expected for a digital comic book but the multiple stacks of t-shirts, sweatpants, hoodies, jewelry, physical copies of each volume Steve'd written and created since he'd began the comic books, and posters of the two main characters, Hawkeye and Falcon, had to fit somewhere.

"Wow," he says, impressed as he lift up a Bird Bros t-shirt off the counter for inspection. It's a men's extra large V-neck in navy blue with the logo printed across the the chest while Falcon soars under it, leaving gray clouds of smoke exhaust in his trails as it shoots out of his jet pack. In Falcon's left hand, he's carrying Hawkeye who is aiming his lucky arrow at an enemy unseen. It's Steve's favorite t-shirt; Kate designed it.

"How much for this?" Bucky asks, distracted by the design to notice the price tag attached.

"For you, it's on the house," Steve tells him as he removes his outerwear and places it under the counter where more merchandise and water is stocked. "But to the general public, it's twenty dollars."

"I'm gonna wear it," Bucky announces and begin to remove his coat and scarf.

"What about Star Wars ?" Steve points out inquisitively and scans the area for wherever the Star Wars panel is even though he's pretty sure it's on the other end of the arena style convention center.

"Well, I'm not dating George Lucas," Bucky says cheekily and removes his Star Wars t-shirt in exchange for the Bird Bros one he was holding. He tugs the clothing over his head and pulls until the hem reaches his waist. After adjusting it to his liking, he poses for Steve and asks "how's it look?"

As if he weren't already gorgeous enough, he looks even sexier in the goofiest article of clothing Steve had ever seen so he nods in approval before unscrewing a water cap from its bottle and taking a gulp. "Like a true fanboy."

"I was kinda hoping you'd have some Black Widow shirts lying around, but I suppose the cartoon version of Clint and Sam will have to do."

Mid swallow, Steve glares at him and lowers the bottle from his mouth. "How'd you know they were based off of-"

"Any idiot who knows those two and reads the comic can make the connection," he answers simply and puts his leather jacket back on to cover his left arm from people passing the booth.

"You read the comics?" Steve's stunned to actually hear this and is only half aware of Bucky looking at him like he's insane while he nods his own head 'yes'. He'd made the assumption that Bucky supported his craft, but to actually know he reads the work he puts out is making his stomach do delightfully obnoxious jumps and twists.

"When? How? Um...why? Ugh-"

"When ? When we began dating. How ? I'm subscribed to the email alerts SHEILD sends out when there's a new issue out," he answers just to tease Steve's babbling even though his answers are true. " Why ? I figured since you play with my dick when I want you to, I might as well."

Steve lifts his brow at that and rolls his eyes even though he knows it's Bucky comical way of saying because I love and support you, that's why. A tinge of pink surfaces on Steve's face when Bucky smirks at him knowingly and takes him by the nape of the neck to pull him into a quick peck.

"Thank you," Steve says gratefully, hopelessly lost in everything involving the man before him when he should be making last minute improvements on his booth.

"You know I got you," Bucky replies, pinching his chin which ultimately makes Steve either wanna die in Bucky's arms or go back to their hotel so they can spend all Valentine's Day inside of each other.

That fleeting thought is prematurely interrupted when someone behind them clears their throat to get their attention. Both men turn to see two young ladies wearing shirts similar to the one Bucky has on with book bags strapped to their backs, employee passes around their necks, and eager grins.

A second of silence passes until Steve recognizes them and approaches the counter to greet them. "Ah, my agents for the weekend!" He gestures to the tan brunette. "Daisy?"

She nods with a smile as wide as Texas while she toys with the Falcon charm bracelet around her wrist. "Impeccable memory, Captain Rogers," she jokes given they'd met just yesterday.

He laughs at himself then turns to the blonde beside her who is sporting her Hawkeye long sleeve with immense amounts of confidence. "Barbara?"

"Or Bobbi," she offers with a shrug and a sip of her coffee. "Either is fine."

"I like Bobbi," he tells her before blindly grabbing Bucky's hand to pull him forward. "Ladies, this is my partner-in-crime, Bucky. He's not as scary as he looks," he introduces him, and Bucky takes great note of how they eye his gloved hand when he waves at them, hiding a grin at Steve's description.

"G'morning," he drawls out in a voiced laced with nothing but Brooklyn.

"Buck, this is Daisy and Bobbi," he points to each girl as their name is said and they wave back. "They're SHIELD interns here to assist with the booth for the weekend."

"Well, that's nice," he says, nodding. "I gotta say Steve and I really appreciate you guys helping us out."

"Oh, it's no big thing," Daisy assures him, letting herself and Bobbi into the booth through the side tent flap and setting their belongings under the counter. "We've been fans of Bird Bros since the first issue dropped, so when Coulson, our boss, came to us about the opportunity, we practically jumped at the chance."

As heartfelt as that is, Bucky can't help spotting bullshit in their reasoning when they hadn't been able to stop batting their eyelashes and sending flirtatious smiles Steve's way since they'd arrived. For all he knows, these women could be telling the truth and Steve being fine as hell is just icing on the cake for them. Regardless of that, he doesn't pay it any attention when he assists in selling merchandise to fans when Sci-Con doors open at ten that morning. If it were possible, he finds himself falling even more in love with Steve as he interacts with his readers with the world's brightest and most genuine smile on his puppy-like face. He'd truly underestimated his boyfriend's popularity since nearly every nerd to approach the booth asked for an autograph or a picture to go with their new Bird Bros merchandise.

By one that afternoon, Bobbi and Daisy had taken their thirty minute breaks, and switched rolls with Bucky and Steve to begin operating with cash and merchandise while the two of them took a break of their own to roam the convention.

Sci-Con is everything they'd expect it to be. It's colorful, loud, and Steve might even say it's overwhelming if not for Bucky holding his hand, reminding him that he's safe and that he wouldn't let anything happen to him. To keep his mind from lapsing into a zone of anxiety, he and Bucky play a game of how many fandoms they encounter roaming the convention center. They've seen a fair share of Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Supernatural fans in costume and cosplay which is to be expected in a setting like this. Bucky definitely geeks out and loses his cool when they end up on other side of the convention near the more popular fan favorites and spends a good amount of his money on Breaking Bad and Star Wars merchandise - as if his apartment weren't already cluttered with every piece of merchandise Star Wars had to offer.

A hundred dollars and forty minutes later, Bucky and Steve arrive back at a semi busy booth with a quarter of their merchandise sold and and faithful readers squealing at the sight of Steve. Like the loving little shit he is, Steve welcomes them all with open arms, hugging, signing comic books and posing for pictures with a demographic of reader ranging from all races, ages, shapes, sizes, and cultures. It's in the middle of a photo op with an Asian teenage girl when he's asked about upcoming story lines.

"My team and I do have something in the works for March and April," he admits, purposely being vague to avoid revealing too much, but the grin on his face tells more than he'd like.

"I just have to say, Mr. Rogers," the Asian girl who Steve remembers is named Katya begins with a smirk that challenges his own. "I absolutely loved this month's issue. I'm very appreciative that Black Widow didn't get with Falcon or Hawkeye."

"You and a lot of other people," Steve snickers, remembering Victoria from yesterday.

"Correct me if I am wrong though, but I read on the SHIELD website that you're working on a new character to add for March? Can we get a hint as to who it is?"

Steve is not prone to full body blushing but by the way his chest is heating up and pooling with red along with his neck and face, he's definitively given himself away. Katya notices and continues to smirk smartly at him, awaiting an answer.

"Well, yeah, I am working on a new character," Steve tells her, rambling in his head the different ways he could mince his answer. "My creative partner, Kate, and I have been discussing different story lines and a backstory around said character. It's not confirmed he'll be in any of the upcoming issues yet, but by 2017, I'm sure he'll make an appearance."

"So, it's a he ? Does he have a name?" she asks curiously, soaking all this in with gratitude and eagerness. She's downright adorable, so Steve complies to go on.

"We've been throwing some names around like, The Asset or The Soldier. Something tough and fierce even though-" he paused to steal a glance at his kitten of a boyfriend grinning and having a conversation with Daisy before turning back to Katya. "His likeness is anything but." That last bit is half serious and half joking.

She catches his look and gives and is practically shaking to be of the first five people to know this. "Are all your characters based on people you know?"

"It almost seems like it's cheating since I didn't have to do much to make up these characters," he giggles and recalls all of them. "Falcon is based on my best friend while Hawkeye is my boyfriend's best friend. Black Widow is a mix of the influential women in my life in one."

"And The Soldier is your boyfriend," she infers with a nod. "Never thought to write yourself into an issue?"

Although he's thought of doing so several times, Steve can't imagine sketching himself in that fucking Captain America suit fighting alongside Widow, Hawkeye, Falcon, and The Soldier. If anything, he'd write himself as the damsel in distress and sketch himself as the ninety pound asthmatic mess he was as a teenager instead.

"Well, that's not a bad idea," he says aloud more so to himself than to Katya. "Not a bad idea at all."

* * *

By the time the convention closed at six, the Bird Bros booth had wrangled in a fair approximated seven thousand dollars to be split between Sci-Con, SHIELD, and Steve which sent Steve back to the hotel happy as hell.

"So, how'd you enjoy your first Sci-Con?" Steve asks when they arrive back to their suite at seven. He begins to strip out of his jeans and t-shirt to freshen up and change into his ensemble of black men's yoga pants, a black muscle shirt, and sneakers.

"It was a lot more fun than I'd imagine it'd be. I definitely gotta get the kid something for Valentine's Day when we go back tomorrow," he thinks aloud. "Speaking of..."

In the midst of removing his clothes, Bucky gets his phone out of his pocket to FaceTime Clint. Mischka answers the phone immediately, more than ecstatic that Bucky remembered to call.

Steve strips down to his briefs to spray the travel sized bottle of he and Bucky's favorite Calvin Klein cologne on his pulse points before telling Mischka to have a happy Valentine's Day, that he loves her so much, and he'll see her soon. After getting off the phone with her, Bucky grimaces at Steve's choice of outfit.

"You're wearing that to dinner?"

"Have we become so predictable that you just assume I'll just take you out to dinner on our first Valentine's Day?" He asks in mock offense, grinning and approaching Bucky with open arms and a slick smirk that tells a story of nothing but trouble.

Bucky falls into Steve's grip, giving him an inquisitive glare. "What are we doing?"

"Just put on some workout clothes and you'll see."

"If you're taking me to the gym on our first Valentine's Day, I'll probably kill you. The gym is the last place I wanna be especially when I've thought about nothing but stuffing a chocolate cheesecake in my face all weekend."

Steve laughs at that. "After we do this, I'll buy you an entire chocolate cheesecake and feed it to you. Sound good, ya fuckin' brat?"

Wearing his nickname well, Bucky shrugs and does as he's told in putting on a long sleeve burgundy compression shirt and pants similar to Steve's. The way the shirt fits shows off his metal arm easily, but at a distance, it's no different than how his right arm looks. Where they'll be going, he doubts anyone will notice this guy's got a metal arm of all things.

However, it's hard as hell for Steve not to stare at his boyfriend looking as delicious as he does in a shirt tight enough to be a second skin, showing off all eight of his abdominal muscles, perky pectorals with nipples to match, biceps the width of Steve's fucking head, and forearms like tree trunks. He'd had to have put on at least twenty solid pounds of muscle since they'd began going to the gym together.

Steve sometimes idly wonders what Natasha would think to see her best friend now all big, beefy, and built like a brick house when she only ever knew him when he was a six feet of lean muscle, soft edges, and delicate like a kitten. What would Winnie or George think? It's a definite that Xavier would've have even so much as thought about doing what he did to Bucky if he looked like how he does now back then. Who would wanna fuck with a six foot tall, two hundred something pound war vet with a metal arm and a face that practically rests in bitch mode twenty three hours out of the day. If Steve didn't know him and saw him on the street, he'd cross to the other side and mutter to himself about how much of an honor it'd be to get punched in the face by him.

Aside from its resting position of mild annoyance, Bucky's face is still sweet and approachable, but that body belongs to an absolutely beast . Steve's mouth is watering at the thought of what it'd be like to be under Bucky, taking all the man can give him while panting and pleading for more like the submissive he yearns to be for him. It's probably nothing short of heaven to have his face pressed between those tits, gripping at the hard surface of his strained biceps with trembling hands and fingers as he hovers over Steve, careful not to crush his Sir with his weight.

It's scary, but Steve wants that. He wants his Bucky to be that way with him; he wants Bucky above him, behind him, under him - it doesn't matter as long as he's inside of him.

Steve's not sure what that means. He likes being Sir, the dominant, but something about how sincerely Bucky's looking at him while he uses a mirror hanging in the front room to braid his hair back asking if he looks okay makes Steve weak in the knees, ready to submit and pass over his power so Bucky can pull him apart little by little with that body of his. Steve would let him, too. Whatever the fuck Bucky wanted out of him, he could have it. His penis, balls, and asshole belong to Bucky, and it's about time he claimed it.

* * *

Halfway to their destination when Steve had jokingly said he and Bucky are taking a Valentine's Day couples dance class, Bucky swore he was kidding. He laughed about it for a second untill he remembered their attire and the completely neutral expression Steve was sporting didn't do anything to soothe his suspicions.

"Oh, you were serious," Bucky finally says when they enter the dance studio amidst the busy hustle and bustle of downtown DC's nightlife. Other couples, heterosexual and gay, are arriving at the same time as them wearing similar outfits, hand in hand with their partner. The only difference is that they seem excited and fully expected to be here whereas Bucky is staring around him in shock while Steve wears a shit-eating grin worth slapping off.

"I'm not sure why you thought I wasn't," Steve replies, stretching his muscles out in tune to the soft jazz music playing over the speakers in the ceiling.

"What made you think of dancing?" Bucky ask now, purposely straggling behind in the class nearest to the exit and to the back to remain unnoticed.

Steve doesn't even have to think about it when he answers calmly, "I love dancing with you, but every time we dance together, Buck, we get distracted."

"I can't wonder why - don't know anybody who could resist an ass like this ," the brunet mutters under his breath, enjoying the view of Steve stretching himself out, showcasing that graceful yet stacked body just for him.

With a lewd flick of his eyebrows, Bucky keeps his eyes focused on the other students while he grasps a muscled cheek of Steve's ass with his flesh hand just when the older man gets in a comfortable downward dog position. He gasps before shooting back up like a rocket to shake his hand off, but Bucky's persistent in making it known this ass is his so instead of letting go, his grip tightens..

Giggling uncontrollably, Steve steadies himself against Bucky before tucking himself into the man, thrilled and damn near sheepish when Bucky begins whispering sweet nothings into his ear all the while nibbling it. They're usually not this openly affectionate in a place as foreign as a dance studio full of other couples, but fuck it - it's Valentine's Day.

Their canoodling is interrupted moments later when the annoyingly energetic dance teacher appears at the front of the class, turning the music up to full volume to begin their Zumba warm-up. As experienced military men - gay men at that - with bodies built for fitness they'd expect to be able to keep up with all the hip gyrations, ass shaking, chest pumping and belly rolls that come with ten minutes of Zumba, but by the end of the third song, they were exerting more energy than expected, drenched in sweat while everyone else in the class remained positive and eager for the next lesson.

Bucky's side eyeing the hell out of Steve and he catches it in the full length wall mirrors surrounding them so he subtly presses soft lips to Bucky's damp stubble as if to apologize. Bucky visibly melts at the gesture and taps him lovingly on the ass.

After another stretching period, the teacher strolls the room to examine her students's dance technique on a thirty second hip-hop routine she'd just taught and has a short laugh at the disaster of arrhythmic embarrassment two bulky white guys Steve and Bucky offered to the class. In their defense, they were having fun trying to keep up and having tiny victories at getting a step in sync with the other students. Plus, it'd been years since Steve had listened to any of modern and contemporary popular music whereas Bucky's musical taste had no limits. After multiple tries, they eventually get the routine down and execute the choreography as best as they could when the whole class did it together.

"Having fun?" Steve asks to be sure as Bucky gulps down the remainder of his water, Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow as sweat drips with a glisten down the span of his neck. Steve doesn't let it distract him when Bucky nods enthusiastically and tells him he's having more fun than he thought he would taking a couple's dance class.

Following hip hop, the instructor winds down with ballroom dancing to classical musical - Steve's favorite. In between teaching footwork and demonstrating with another student, the instructor reminds everyone that although this is the hardest dance to learn, it's the most sensual. Steve and Bucky can attest when they're chest to chest, so close that they're sharing oxygen, forehead to forehead, swaying in a fashion too lazy to count as ballroom dancing. A few kisses are stolen whenever the routine calls for bringing a partner in towards the other, and neither are complaining.

"You're cute when you concentrate on impressing me," Steve murmurs at noticing Bucky breaking out in a sweat to remain on beat with the music and Steve.

"Shuddup," Bucky snaps and momentarily loses his footing. "Just dance, asshole."

The ballroom dancing doesn't last as long as the hip-hop did. The transition from ballroom to another stretch included Steve constantly teasing Bucky for how awkward his new body made the choreography look. With a shy grin and a blush to his cheeks, Bucky mutters under his breath how much Steve likes it; Steve doesn't deny it.

The third and final lesson of the evening is Bucky's favorite by far - lap dances.

This isn't necessarily something the instructor could teach. It's a freestyle art of dance encouraged by libido, personality and choice of music. It's soulful - very personal. After the instructor announced that they'd be lap dancing, she gave the option of cutting the class short for those who'd be uncomfortable with exposing themselves in such an intimate way around a class of strangers, and a handful of couples left, leaving Bucky and Steve, the instructor and her partner, two straight couples, and a lesbian pair to continue the lesson.

Although they should be paying attention to the techniques and positions the instructor is demonstrating at the front of the studio, Bucky's and Steve's eyes haven't left the other since majority of the class exited minutes ago.

"How you wanna do this?" Bucky asks teasingly, his eyes trailing slowly up the plain of Steve's taut body, undressing him in his head through hooded eyelids, making the other man squirm like he were standing ass naked in front of the whole class. "I dance for you? You wanna dance for me?"

Steve quirks a challenging eyebrow at his boyfriend, returning the gesture of defiling him in his mind and making a show of it on his face with his bottom lip between his teeth and lowered eyebrows. Before they realize the music starting, they're circling each other, burning aroused glances onto the other's skin with how intensely they're observing each other's movement and facial expression. Soon enough, every couple in the room is lost in their own private dance.

Bucky tickles Steve's lower abdomen teasingly before his fingers linger sneakily up his side, making Steve hiss at the sensation of being touched so delicately all the while goosebumps have every strand of hair on him at high attention. With just as much feather light care, Steve does the same to him, the hardness of his torso making his mouth water; he'd lick every drop of sweat produced from this class off this man.

To say that they're hungry in more ways than just having empty stomachs in an understatement; both men are famished and in dire need to get their hands on the other. The teacher instructs a partner to be seated in a tin folding chair with their hands behind them while the other is to stand five feet in front of the seated partner to start the dance with approaching them in the sexiest manner possible.

Before they come to a decision of who is going where and doing what to who, Bucky forces Steve into the chair with just a push of his metal arm.

"But-" Steve's about to protest but Bucky produces a guttural growl so deep in his throat it making his chest rumble and Steve shiver. That's his not so subtle way of telling him to shut the fuck up.

To make the setting interesting, the lights are dimmed and the volume is turned to max volume, blasting a low bass hum that shakes the studio and all inside. The intensity of the music infiltrates both men's senses, heightening every nerve and cell, making both more sensitive than necessary in a dance studio. Steve's sweating from the arousal of the situation in the chair already, thankful as fuck that he's facing the exit so no one else can spot between the lowered lights the tent forming in his pants at the sight of Bucky stalking to him, on his hands and knees, crawling like a jungle cat pursuing helpless prey. With every slick step he's taking, Bucky's body moves in tune with the song, his silhouette just a dark figure dipping and protruding slyly in certain areas like his hips and shoulders to further show off the extent of his sensuality, masculinity, and willingness to submit and please in the form of this dance.

Instincts tell Steve to separate his thighs, so he does so, inviting that animal of Bucky in. He curses under his breath when Bucky stops right before his knees and by the trick of light still illuminating the dance studio, Steve catches the predatory glare in his blown pupils.

He's not here to submit.

Steve gulps.

Just that thought alone has his cock hard at full attention, pressed unbearably to his thigh. Why did he have to wear these briefs with these fucking pants...

With the raunchy lyrics of the song to influence and guide him, Bucky slithers from his spot on the floor between Steve's legs, nuzzling his face affectionately on the front of Steve's crotch, making himself well acquainted with the erection. Steve's hands itch to snatch him by his hair to regain power over the situation, but he stays perfectly still.

"You let me violate you...You let me desecrate you..."

Bucky sings low with the song, never breaking eye contact when the tip of his nose circles the cock head poking through the fabric of Steve's pants, inhaling the musk scent radiating from his lap.

"You let me penetrate you...You let me complicate you..."

When the metronome kicks in over the speakers, Bucky rises to his feet to fully straddle Steve and with the best attempts, he tries his damnedest to not immediately grind down onto his lap the way he really wants to. His own erection pokes Steve in the sternum on his way down to sit comfortable on him, each leg on either side of him. Bucky isn't much of a dancer, but he knows his singing voice drives this man insane, so all the while seductively massaging what he can reach of Steve's upper body, he's murmuring the lyrics right into his ears in between nibbles on his already pink earlobe.

"Help me...I broke apart my insides...Help me...I've got no soul to sell...Help me...The only thing that works for me...Help me get away from myself..."

The second the beat drops in the song, Bucky's back on his feet, knees bent while suggestively winding his hips in precise circles right before front of Steve's face. While those devil made hips of his entice Steve further with each swing and dip, he's still singing, hands caging Steve's face so he has no choice but to pathetically watch Bucky's body move and taunt like a snake.

Steve's highly sure he'd learned to dance like this from watching the Bahamian natives as well as practicing with Ms. Wanda in her private lessons. He mentally notes to thank her next time he sees her.

"I want to fuck you like an animal...I want to feel you from the inside..."

From that movement, he steadies himself on Steve's shoulders to full on pop his lower body back and forth, swishing his legs against each other till he anchors himself onto Steve's lap and continues the action on Steve's thigh. As much as he'd like to look up and at Bucky, he can't tear his eyes from watching the younger man dry hump and please himself on his thigh. The friction of it has Bucky's eye rolling to the back of his head; Steve's chest heaves, but no oxygen goes in.

"I want to fuck you like an animal...My whole existence is flawed...You get me closer to God!"

As if Steve didn't already have his breath taken away, whatever's left of it is stolen right from his lungs when Bucky swiftly swings his left leg over both of their heads with just a gust of wind in its wake and lands perfectly with his ass pressed into Steve's lap, holding himself up with his hands digging into Steve's thighs as he continues to grind on beat.

Unable to contain himself, Steve's hands fly forward to encase Bucky's hips in his greedy grasp, growling as he does so. His dick nudges Bucky's ass every other time he goes low, and he resists the demons inside telling him to pump his hips upward.

"You can have my isolation...You can have the hate that it brings...You can have my absence of faith...You can have my everything..."

Steve leans upward to pull Bucky back with him into a seated position, back to front. "Did Wanda teach you how to do that, too?"

Bucky snickers and shakes his head yes. "I knew that lesson would come in handy one day."

Steve moans in agreement, rocking against Bucky feverishly to get his dose of friction and pleasure. " Fuck ..."

"Shhh..." Bucky hushes him and releases himself from Steve's hold to turn forward against and get those hips winding again. Steve doesn't even bother keeping his hands to himself this time as they rest aimlessly on his waist, traveling wherever Bucky decides to put them.

Without an ounce of shame left, Steve grabs Bucky's ass to eases his crotch closer to his face. While his torso ripples about in his own form of belly dancing, Bucky lifts the hem of his shirt just enough to expose his stomach and taps his happy trail knowingly. Steve kisses that area with an open mouth, tasting the salt on his man's skin and getting his nose tickled by the beginnings of a happy trail. To keep Bucky from straying, Steve keep his hands locked around his hips and brings him to his face to kiss and lick whatever he can reach of Bucky's lower abdomen. Just as he'd thought, it's sweaty and moist, and he can't bring himself to care how dirty it is.

Bucky's dancing abruptly stops at the sensation of being eaten alive running its course through his veins. His body doesn't pinpoint why it feels this euphoric to have Steve's lips and teeth dragging and sinking so deep into the skin, along his lower half the way he is, but he does know he's hard as ever and really wants to pull his pants down so Steve can get his mouth on him.

"Help me...Tear down my reason...Help me...It's your sex I can smell...Help me...You make me perfect...Help me become somebody else..."

\With minimal self control left, Steve stands from his seat to be eye level with a shocked yet highly turned on Bucky. He's not sure what takes over him or when he'd gotten this aggressive when he manhandles Bucky into the chair and straddles his lap. The chair makes a noise when it slides on the wood floors, but the music is so loud and the other couples are so spaced out and isolated that no one hears it.

" Shit ," Bucky moans to himself when Steve aligns their erection together and grinds down as though they were in the privacy of their own apartments. He'd never taken Steve for an exhibitionist, but he currently doesn't give a fuck because it feels to damn good to stop and worry about being seen. With a quick glance around the room, he barely sees any other couple, so there's no way they see them.

Song be damned, Steve dry humps Bucky at his own pace, hips jerking in such a rush to get off so they can get the fuck out of there because there's no way in hell they're moving from this spot in stable condition. The embarrassment of going all the way back to the hotel half hard and pre-come staining the front of their sweats is the last thing they're worried about, so without a fucking care in the world, they continue grinding, humping, and touching each other. It's surely not the same as when Bucky is on top; he's usually attentive and aware of how his partner is doing while maintaining a consistent speed that'll keep both parties satisfied.

Steve isn't like that.

Almost like it's a task, Steve's lower body is just moving on autopilot, doing what it knows as a top - or a Dominant - by thrusting erratically and pleasing his bottom - or a submissive - in that rough demeanor he only knows of. He doesn't know about letting someone else take control therefore he's grinding like an energized rabbit with no finesse or skill.

Through the low lights of their environment, Bucky makes out the preciously anxious expressions on Steve's face as he jerks and bounces atop of Bucky's dick, desperate to make one of them come to relieve the ache in their pants. His mouth is hanging open, stuttering line after line of how good this feels and how he really wants to get Bucky off since he's always the one to do the work. Come to think of it, Steve has probably never ridden someone this way.

He's probably never ridden anybody at all.

There's various position in which he probably was riding someone - definitely Bucky - all while fucking them, but never like this . Outside the bedroom, they'd playfully wrestle themselves into positions where Bucky ended up below him and they make jokes about Steve riding him, but it's never been like this. It's never became a reality.

This is his time to show Steve that he can take care of him, too. Steve has no idea what he's doing and without explicitly saying it, he's relying on Bucky to guide him even if he's trying his best. He wants this - he wants to submit to Bucky in the way Bucky's been too resistant to ask him. He wouldn't have switched positions if he didn't.

Bucky's heart has no choice but to swell with absolute adoration for his sweet baby when he looks up at him clumsily grind back and forth, visibly shy and embarrassed by how foolish he probably looks trying to impress Bucky.

" Ah , baby," he coos, cupping Steve's cheek with a flesh hand while the metallic one ceases his hips. Steve stops immediately to meet Bucky's eyes. Their pupils are shot to shit with barely any color left of their irises.

" B-Buck ..." Steve's trying to say, but he's drowned out by the music. "Bucky, I, um ...I.."

The stammering and sheepish way his shoulders are hunching downward is downright adorable to see on a man as big as a fucking building with the face of a golden retriever. If they're going to do this, they're going to do this properly which is back in their suite after an extensive talk, a hot meal, and a steamy shower. Steve's first time shouldn't be on display in some dance studio; he deserves so much more.

"No, it's okay, doll," Bucky's whispering to him, lightly nudging himself out of the seat so Steve will stand. When he does, he attaches himself back to Bucky automatically, eyes cast downward to avoid being seen, hands twitching to hold Bucky's.

"Hey, you okay?" He asks sweetly, taking one of Steve's hand into his own, but Steve doesn't have a verbal answer and instead flutters his eyes closed. He's redder than Bucky's ever seen him despite majority of his blood having rushed to his dick. As if that didn't turn him on enough, Bucky lets out a desperate moan. Steve's actually embarrassed, and it's the most innocent thing Bucky's ever laid eyes on.

"C'mon, doll, lemme get you outta here," Bucky mutters into his cheek, taking gracious care in guiding his boyfriend behind him out the dance studio doors, not bothering to let the song finish or say goodbye. Steve follows without a word, letting himself be guided with a haze in his brain and no clue where they're going but with enough trust in his heart that Bucky's taking him away from everything so he can get his head back.

The brisk February cold hits his face and his muscles almost a block away from the studio, causing him to shiver relentlessly. Bucky looks like he wants to kick himself when he remembers they'd left their jackets in the studio. Thankfully nothing of value is in the pockets, but he couldn't think of letting Steve freeze before getting back to the hotel. He opens his mouth to propose going back for the forgotten articles of clothing, but as soon as the idea crosses his mind, Steve's staring at him with doe eyes sad and large enough to express how much he wants to just go back to the hotel. It's almost as if they're pleading to just get the hell out of public so he can break down in peace.

To avoid freezing, Bucky hails them a cab back to the hotel and apologizes profusely as he attempts to warm him up with just his right hand since the metal one is pretty cold itself. Steve just nods in appreciation and lets himself be taken up to their suite.

Once inside the room, Bucky directs Steve to the living room sitting area then drapes his winter coat over Steve's shoulders. He sits before him on the coffee table just as Steve had the night before and examines his body language and facial expression for discomfort.

"You okay? Warm enough?"

Steve nods, still embarrassed even though both of their erections had softened in the fifteen minutes it took to get back to the hotel.

"Use your words like a big boy."

It's foreign, abnormal, yet so fucking sexy for those words to come out of Bucky's mouth. It gets Steve's eyes flicking upward in an instant while his ears ring, and Bucky's lips tingle to have said it.

"Yes, Bucky. I'm okay," he answers obediently and removes the coat from around his shoulders. "I-I-I'm sorry about-"

"No, it's alright," Bucky interrupts before he can even get his words together. "It's okay. Looks like we've got some things to talk about, huh?"

Steve follows Bucky's lead in chuckling to lighten the situation and seems grateful for Bucky's understanding. With a sigh, he takes Steve's hands into his own, inspecting his palms before kissing the tips of all ten fingers delicately.

"Do you wanna go first?" Bucky asks, bringing Steve's hand to his chest to hold close. The tone in which Bucky uses more so demands Steve speak first rather than asking if he'd like to.

Steve's buried these feelings and fantasy so deep within himself that it feels almost like a trap to express them. In all the times he's fantasized about Bucky dominating him, he never thought he'd let his arousal compromise him so much that he'd do what he did in the dance studio. It's unlike him, and there were so many other ways that he could've revealed wanting to be topped than putting on a cheap show of uncoordinated hip thrusts on Bucky, but he takes it or what it is and sighs.

"Um, I'm not exactly sure how I wanted to bring this up to you, but, I, ugh..." He's stuttering already, at a loss for words. Even as Bucky's staring him down with all the understanding and admiration, his mind is telling him to hide and just forget about wanting to be fucked even though it's all he thinks about.

"I've been wanting to for a while," he blurts out after a second of thought, and at first, Bucky looks like he wants to burst with laughter at Steve's vagueness but doesn't when he takes notice of how vulnerable he really is.

" Wanting to...?" Bucky knows the answer, but he wants to hear him say it.

"Wanting to, y'know, um...I want to have sex with you." It sounded so much better in Steve's head, but how stupid he feels doesn't even measure to how badly he wants this. "I want you to show me how it feels..."

Bucky begins to peck his fingers again, and that eases Steve's nerves.

"Show me how it feels to be on the other end. Like, I want you to fuck me . Um, y'know... be inside of me ..."

That last part is whispered like a precious secret meant for just them two.

"Inside of you," Bucky repeats.

"Yes," he admits. "I've been feeling like this for a while, but I didn't wanna say anything 'cus I didn't want you to get freaked out."

"Why would you think I'd freaked out?"

"I didn't think you'd wanna do it 'cus I'm so inexperienced in that aspect," he starts and swallows a lump forming in his throat harshly. "I didn't think you'd want me in that way, either. It seemed silly. I didn't want you to be uncomfortable with-" he stops for the right word - " doing that to me when you don't even masturbate or pleasure yourself in that way."

It takes Bucky a second to digest that. It'd been made obvious in the beginning of their relationship that after years of training and personal morale, he didn't take part in pleasing himself. It's not that he didn't want to - he just couldn't. It's not what he's comfortable doing when a good portion of his life was spent having a Dom of sorts to take control of him. He can see where Steve could get that from, and the fact that he even noticed makes Bucky's stomach flip.

"You didn't think I'd want you?" Bucky repeats incredulously, interlocking their fingers. "How is that even possible? Steve, I want you in any form you'll let me have you."

"B-but I've never done this before," the older man squeaks out, bashful to admit this even when he's among caring company. "I've never done anything like that."

"Never?"

Steve shakes his head and shuffles in his seat uncomfortably. "No."

"Never been fingered?"

"No."

"Anyone else besides me ever eat you out?"

"You're the first and only."

Bucky steels himself accordingly and fights the ache manifesting in his crotch at the purity that is Steve Rogers; not only is he virgin to any type of ass play, but he wants Bucky as his first.

"You've tried fingerling yourself? Using a toy?"

The shift from shivering to the immense heat pooling into his face and neck is almost instant at these questions. Unwarranted shame washes over him at how hard this is making him.

"I've tried using a dildo before, but it hurt so bad that I had to stop. It's not that it didn't feel good or anything - maybe I didn't use enough lube?"

"Have you been with any other guys besides me?"

Even though he knows Bucky's trying to get to the extent of Steve's experiences, Steve can't help rolling his eyes at that question. He doesn't need long to think about how many guys he'd gotten with in the short span of time between senior year and joining the army, which seemed like an endless parade of dicks before he'd met Peggy. Come to think of it, he'd probably had more sexual experiences with men than women.

Bucky snickers at the reaction and puts a hand up in defense. "So, you've always topped."

"I've never wanted to be with someone like this," he admits. "Of all the guys I've sexually involved myself with, you are the only one who I want to have me like that. I trust you." I love you.

"You trust me with this ," Bucky clarifies.

"I trust you ," Steve repeats. "I trust that you won't hurt me or do something I wouldn't like. Or that you wouldn't make fun of me if I get uncomfortable. I know you wouldn't take advantage, or you'd be there if something went wrong to hold me and tell me it's okay... that this is okay ..."

With every profession, Steve only feels smaller and smaller, locked so deep in the depths of vulnerability and insecurities that the shame of being aroused is making him hard. He feels guilty for wanting Bucky in this way when Bucky won't even indulge in jerking off; he likes to bottom because that's where he's safest.

He doesn't want Bucky to be unsafe.

But, he really wants Bucky to fuck him.

"I know you said that you want me, but do you want this ? I'll only want it if you do. That's part of the reason why I didn't mention it before. If you do, then I wanna try it. Preferably tonight? But if it's not okay-"

" Hey ," Bucky whispers to get his attention again. "What's making you think that this wouldn't be okay? Baby doll, I've wanted you like this for ages so badly that it's making my dick hurt every second I'm not inside that tight ass of yours."

Steve outright whimpers and hangs his head, anxious to give himself to Bucky at such a confession. " Oh , Buck-"

"I want this just as badly as you do. You know that, right? I want this, baby. I want you. Y'don't have to worry your pretty head about me not wanting you in that way."

Bucky steals a kiss right from Steve's lips when he eases forward to cup his face with both hands. Those expressive grey eyes of his tell such a story with every second they're glued to Steve's face, and the ending to that story is that he has so much love to give. He loves Steve so fucking much.

"So, now that it's out there that we both want this, do you think I could ask you some things?"

Bucky vehemently nods and kisses him again. "Yes, please. I encourage that you ask questions."

Relief replaces the earlier doubts and anxiety that manifested themselves in Steve's head. He almost feels like he should be taking out a pen and paper to take notes for all the questions he's locked away upon realization that he'd wanted this.

"Um, how badly does it hurt? It being, ugh-"

"Taking dick," Bucky finishes for him with a shrug and a half smile at the cuteness in Steve doing his best to find words that won't make him sound ignorant and offensive. "Well, speaking from someone who used to take dick for a living and really enjoys it, no . It's hard to say whether it'll hurt when you have other factors to consider. It's different with everyone."

Steve's face falls with discouragement at that and before he's able to sulk about it, Bucky lifts his chin again to keep eye contact.

"That doesn't mean I wouldn't try to make your first time as good for you as I can," he reminds him timidly, voice low and assuring. "Honestly, doll, I won't sugarcoat it just 'cus you're my guy. I'm gonna tell you what I wish someone told me my first time: it does hurt . It doesn't last and for some, it's more of a discomfort than pain. It passes and I promise 'til it does, I'll hold you and talk you through it. Understand me?"

That's all Steve wanted. He just wants to be held under Bucky and kept safe every step of the way. "Yes. Yes, I understand."

The sincere manner in which Bucky's staring at his boyfriend makes all the insecurities diminish. He's so into this; he wants this just as much as Steve does.

"And you're okay with that? You're comfortable knowing it might hurt? I mean I've been doing this a long time, and it's nothing like porn, Stevie."

"I know," he agrees, understanding perfectly. "But I trust that you'll make everything nice for me. Another thing..."

"Yes?"

"What does it feel like?"

Bucky takes a second to think while running his fingers comfortingly over Steve's hands. "Um, I suppose it can best be described as being full. Not in the sense of, like, not hungry kinda full, but as a being, you feel like you've found a missing puzzle piece to yourself. Almost like every second they're not in you, you're this empty shell, and you didn't realize how empty 'til someone takes the leap and puts themselves inside," he says sincerely and then continues. "Well, that's how it feels with you anyway. It hurt a bit the first time we had sex, but it felt like that. Like I was an empty shell and when you put yourself inside of me, it was like you were fucking my emotions to the surface. Bottoming can be a very vulnerable feeling and trusting someone with that power to take care of you in that way can bring up a lot of things you didn't know you were keeping hidden. It's like your emotions getting pushed to the brim and all you can do to remind yourself it's all real is just looking at your partner and thanking them for filling you up again and again and again... "

"I want that," Steve pants out desperately without thinking, grabbing Bucky's wrists to anchor himself back into reality when his sense begins to get the better of him at Bucky's words. " I want that. .. please ..."

"I know, doll. I know... " Bucky assures him sweetly, taking Steve's hands into his again and leaning forward to kiss his forehead. "You always make it so good for me, so I have to return the favor for you. Been wanting to get my hands on you like this and it's got my pants tight as fuck that you want me to take you apart and fill you up over, and over, and over... "

" Bucky ," Steve gasps, cock twitching in his boxer briefs at the images the younger man are putting in his head. "Baby, I-I... I'm ready. I want this... "

Like he can feel Bucky's cock in his ass already, he shifts and grinds downward onto the sofa cushion to apply pressure to his tight hole. As if he were a female, it almost feels like he's getting wet with anticipation. That makes his eyes flutter closed while Bucky analyzes his body language for hesitation.

" Shhhh ," he hushes him patiently and kisses his forehead again. "You don't have anything else you wanna know about this?"

He knows he has more questions and wonders but his head is so clouded with lust, and he's so horny he's not recalling any of them. Embarrassingly stuttering and unable to get his thoughts together, his cock grows and rushes with blood, making him so uncomfortable that Bucky stands to enclose him safely into a reassuring embrace.

"Aw, baby," he whines, voice husky from keeping it low and comforting. "No, it's okay. I know you're flustered. It's your first time, and that's okay. I understand that you're probably feeling inexperienced and lost with all this, but it's okay. Stevie, I need you to trust me, alright?"

Steve is more than ready to fall the fuck apart, but he nods and struggles - really trying his best - to get his words together. He has so many concerns but the challenge in articulating them are only compelling Bucky to hold him tighter and whisper how good he's being and how okay it's gonna be, only making his cock harder, his head foggier, and his eyes water.

Bucky strokes his metal fingers on Steve's crown, calming him down all the while willing his erection to go flaccid. He wanted this to be about Steve, not him.

"Wh-what are you gonna do to me? How are you going to do this? Tell me? Please, tell me, " Steve begs, clinging to Bucky like he's his lifeline - in some ways, he is.

In between gentle strokes, Bucky sighs and coos lovingly into the air to relax him. "Well, first, I'm gonna kiss you. I'm gonna kiss you 'til you can't stand it, and your lips are all red and swollen…I know you're not big on it, but I'd probably play with your pretty nipples just to tease you," he continues, sighing blissfully, squeezing the back of Steve's neck to simulate tweaking a nipple. "Got such nice tits, baby. You know that?"

A pang of electricity shoots through Steve, making him to jerk upward and whine in despair. He's being so mercilessly teased that he'll probably come untouched right in his pants.

"Oh, I'd take such good care of you. Eat that tight ass out to get you nice and loose for me...wouldn't wanna hurt you...put my fingers in you to get ready for my cock..."

Steve buries his head against Bucky's abdomen. This is too much.

"I'd take it so slow first 'cus you're my gorgeous little virgin, huh? You're my little virgin?" He asks genuinely, crouching forward to meet Steve's storming and wet eyes. The desire and anticipation for this is shown in every crystal that makes up the barely present iris of his spaced out, glassy eyes searching Bucky's face for guidance.

He involuntary nods in agreement. "V-virgin..."

By basic standards, Steve is somewhat a virgin seeing as though he's never been penetrated. Although virginity is a fake social construct, it still turns Steve on to say that Bucky Barnes is the one who truly has his purity. Bucky is going to be his first; the one who owns his ass forever and always.

"My untainted angel," Bucky goes on, leaning in just the right amount to ghost his chapped lips against Steve's quivering ones. "You have to know how happy it makes me that you trust me to take care of you like this. It feels like you're putting everything you have into a tiny necklace locket and giving it to me. I'm the luckiest lil' shit in the world to have something as precious as Steve's Rogers's virginity in my back pocket."

Steve would get that statement tattooed on his fucking forehead if he weren't thinking right.

"I like this," Bucky purrs down his submitting boy's ear canal with a chuckle, making Steve all but die. "It feels like you're the goody-two-shoes who does their homework and listens to their parents while I'm the bad boy fuck-up that they warned you about. Fruit tastes much better when it's forbidden so you take a chance to get with the bad boy and realize he's the absolute love of your life. Is that right, baby boy?"

Steve knows it's a question, but he can't find an answer since his brain is soft and not computing anything except Bucky being the best and worst ducking thing to happen to him. He can't take this. He's actually going to die from this. The rush of having Bucky so close in proximity invading his senses and calling him baby boy in that voice...

" Yes ," he agrees and nods. "Love of my life. I-I-I'm the baby boy-"

As a reward, Bucky presses his lips onto Steve's and deliberately keeps the kiss chaste with his mouth closed and his hand cradling Steve's head. Steve whines urgently and forces himself forward, but Bucky detaches.

That gets another whine emitting from the bottom of Steve's throat and into the suite.

Bucky kisses the corner of his mouth now, and whispers, "Doll, you're gonna do so well."

"Wh-what if I'm not-" he stammers and cast his eyes down passed Bucky's expecting glare. "I'm not clean down there."

Bucky nods, understanding more than anybody. "It's okay. I'm gonna run a bath and get you nice and clean so we can play. Is that what you want?"

Steve's emotions swirl at the mention of sharing a bath. His nipples harden under his skin along with his pores prickling, hair on the back of his neck rising, and his heart thumping its way out of his chest.

"All I need is a yes or no, baby," Bucky hums.

Steve trembles and sneaks a quick peck. "Yes."

With Steve's permission, Bucky makes the process of sprinkling the bedroom carpet and bed with the rose petals, dimming the lights to set fire to the candles, and making the candy assessable on the side of the bed a quick one before reading over the thoughtful note in the Valentine's Day card. He smiles down at the card fondly before placing it in the gift bag he'd assembled the night before.

After putting a sensual instrumental playlist on over the television, he plugs the bathtub and alternates between hot and cold water to fill the tub until it's warm enough for his liking. It's times like this he wish he had some champagne to get them started, but this experience is going to be much too special to wanna forget or be intoxicated for, so Bucky doesn't think about it too much. Once the circular tub is filled to a decent amount, he adds some of the synthetic roses to the water as well as scented bath salts he found under the sink.

Bucky peeks his head back around the corner to check on Steve. His boyfriend is obediently sitting on the couch just how Bucky'd left him, rubbing along his arms to get warm again in the absence of Bucky's essence. His back is to Bucky, but somehow the brunet can tell he's pouting while those huge eyes of his zero in on one spot of the floor as a way to focus. Bucky gets undressed to wrap a towel around his waist and takes several deep breaths; this is really going to happen. He's waited all this time for it and it's actually going to occur. He would swear it's a dream if he hadn't went back into the living room to retrieve Steve and held the weight of his hand in his own like it's grounding him.

The ambiance of the roses and the dimmed lights widens Steve's eyes, making his head swim. The environment is something out of a romantic comedy movie all the cheesy one liners and horrendous acting aside; the idea of rose petals, music and dimly lit music is corny in itself just to hear about but as Steve absorbs himself in this setting, he can't say a single bad thing about any of it the way he does in those movies.

"Oh, Buck," he's saying in a voice as tender and quiet as a mouse. "Bucky, it's-this is- is this all for...this?"

Bucky hides the gift bag behind his back as he approaches Steve in the middle of the bedroom, taking in the suite. "I didn't know we'd be doing this, but I knew I wanted our first Valentine's Day to be as cheesy as possible. Don't count on me trying any time after this year, though. Here," he holds the gift out, and Steve's eyes go from the white gift bag to Bucky's face to the bag again. "Happy anniversary slash Valentine's Day."

"Oh, now you're the one spoiling me," Steve chuckles shyly, taking the gift in hand and removing the tissue paper. Because Steve is a sentimental fucker, he opens the card first and hearts take over the shape of his very dilated pupils.

The card is hot pink, as most Valentine's Day cards are, decorated with white glitter and a cartoon couple on the front holding hands. The inside is just as festive, and Steve melts all over again at the note Bucky's written under the card's design.

Steve, I'm the luckiest man on earth to have the amazing opportunity to call you my boyfriend and even luckier that you call me yours. These five (five-ish) months I've spent with your ugly mug have been the greatest of my sad life, and I plan on spending the next five, the five after, and the five on with you. Whatever the future throws our way, I know we can handle it. Getting my arm blown off has made me a resilient motherfucker, so any chance you thought you had of getting away from me is nonexistent. I love you more than words or music lyrics could describe, so I hope I can show you better than I can write it. Happy anniversary/ Valentine's Day, doll.

In between a giggle and a choked sob, Steve looks back up at Bucky to see that he's the shy one now, bashfully glancing around every corner of the room while Steve stares him down until their eyes meet.

"You're such a sap, Barnes," Steve half jokes, wagging the card in the air and then putting it back into the bag.

"Can I kiss you?" Bucky asks, only advancing towards Steve when he nods his head and angles his head forward.

Cupping his hard jaw into his metal palm while the flesh one nurses Steve's hip, soothing the bone in tiny circles. Their lips overlap and play in wet unorganized circles, tasting of salt from the sweat of the dance class but also sweet like sugar. Bucky progresses the kiss onward with inserting his tongue past Steve's lips to taste his mouth fully, making Steve moan hotly and imitate the action by swirling his own tongue around Bucky's. It's slimy and slightly gross, but it's keeping both of them present.

Bucky pulls away first only to peck him once more on Steve's glistening lips and then his cheek. "Open your gift."

Doing as he's told, Steve balances the bag on his palm while the other hand digs inside for a moment to cardboard grasp what feels like a box. He lifts the gift out and lays eyes on a plain flat brown box. Bucky's eyebrows wiggle mischievously as he lifts the opening flap for Steve to reveal the vast assortment of high end markers, colored pencils, and paints aligned neatly by shade in their respective slots.

"Oh, baby," Steve begins, but barely gets the words out before Bucky kisses him again. It's not a deep kiss, but it is passionate.

"Before you ask, yes, it was expensive, but I didn't use that money to buy it. I bought it the honest way from gigs at the 107th 'cus I actually want you to use it."

Steve's skin flushes red because that's exactly what he was about to ask. "Bucky, I love it," he says out of admiration, feeling the art tools for himself.

"I'm glad you do. Maybe now you can draw me like one of your French girls," he teases, squeezing Steve's hip, making him squirm. "I love you."

Before the guilt can appear on Steve expression, Bucky takes the art kit and the bag from him to be set on the nightstand before rushing in for another kiss. The blond complies with all his worries out the window when Bucky blindly leads the two of them in the direction of the bathroom.

Steve begins to take his shirt off when he sees the tub is full and tosses it onto the floor without a care.

"You okay?" Bucky asks, standing behind Steve to leave a trail of kisses starting from his right shoulder, his nape, and ranging to his left shoulder. It's a delicate action that he doesn't rush. It's a privilege to take this much time adorning Steve's reddened skin with peck after peck, leaving behind a puckering sound and a ring of saliva from sucking down on his salt ridden body.

Steve nods and squeaks out, "Yes. I'm okay."

While his face is still deep into sucking the tangy flavor off of the back of Steve's neck, Bucky loops his arms forward to hover above Steve's crotch. Steve's breath hitches nervously at what he thinks is Bucky reaching to palm his growing erection, but sighs contently with an even calmer shiver when he glances down to see his boyfriend's fingers untying the pants drawstring. Just below this, the crotch of his pants tent in the slightest.

"Fuck," Steve exhales helplessly when a tent similar to his own makes contact with his now bare ass just seconds after the pants end up scrunching around his ankles.

His cock springs upward, waggling on its own at the teasing nature of Bucky's cool metal fingers tickling his happy trail while the other hand kneads the exposed flesh of his pectoral.

"I'm so fucking nuts about you," Bucky admits coolly, successfully carrying out his promise in toying with Steve's nipple all while nibbling his ear from behind. A stuttered groan fills the bathroom, and Steve's sure it came from him.

"You ain't so bad ya'self," Steve replies, lolling his head backwards over Bucky's shoulder to meet his lips. Instead, Bucky continues to nibble on Steve's ear before purposely applying more pressure than necessary to his lone. Only slight pain shoots through Steve from him actually biting down on the sensitive area, making his cock twitch in interest and drop a single drop of clear pre-come.

"Buck," he whines, knees wobbling from lack of support, but Bucky holds him up with a demeaning chuckle.

"I ain't so bad, huh?"

The severity of letting Bucky take complete control of Steve clicks faster than anything else he had prepared himself or tonight. The realization that he's not Sir right now and that Bucky is also gets his dick making minuscule jumps of excitement. He's so bare and open at the moment, but he can't stop from making a fool of himself by begging.

"N-no...no, you're perfect...everything...fuck, 'm so hard, Buck. You're everything. I-I-I'm so hard..."

"You're also filthy," Bucky quips childishly and takes his hand in his. "Let's get you in the tub."

The water is still moderately warm enough for bubbles to form from Bucky lathering up soap and scrubbing it all over Steve's body with a sponge. Trusting Bucky, Steve relaxes while his man uses gentlemanly patient efforts with cleaning the dirt and grime of the day off of Steve's broad and hard chest and back, getting under his arms, behind his ears, his bellybutton, then washing his hair with the miniature bottle of shampoo and conditioner.

Even as Bucky's fingers roam, explore, and descend to every reachable point of Steve's upper body, he's respectable by not sexualizing the act of washing him. It's sensual, but the way Bucky's reverently smiling at him, never making a comment about how sexy Steve looks, or groping him has Steve's stomach tied in knots from sexual frustration as well as respect. He said he'd give Steve a bath, and that's just what he's doing. As much as he'd expected that this act would be sexual, he's strangely grateful Bucky didn't make it so because he knows just how nervous Steve is already.

In the midst of Bucky mouthing at his temple and telling him under his breath about what a good boy he is, it really clicks that this is what they're doing. From this standpoint, it's easy to understand why Bucky fell so hard so fast for him. Although Bucky is no stranger to babying and spoiling Steve, the way he's catering to him tonight is making him see their relationship in a whole other light. There's no way in hell Bucky wouldn't have fell for Steve when it feels this good to be doted on and cared for in preparation for what they're about to do.

He needed this more than he wanted.

Without preamble, a meek and soft spoken "Baby," randomly slips from Steve's lips just when Bucky is pulling away to rinse his soapy chest off. The sound is heartbreaking, but Bucky keeps grinning encouragingly at him.

"You're the baby, tonight, okay?" He responds, wringing out a washcloth of water over Steve's chest. The clustered droplets of water splash and trickles down his breasts, washing most of the suds into the pool of water below. "Oh, my sweet baby boy."

With a shudder starting in his shoulders that descends to his balls, Steve gaze locks with Bucky's to find sincerity. All he sees is adoration in those steel grey eyes he loves so much.

"I don't know if I'm ever gonna get used to being called that," he admits shyly, head down and eyes following random swirls of soap in the water. "I really like it."

"Whenever I say it out loud, it's by accident," Bucky confesses. "It would just slip out because it's what I call you in my head sometimes. At this point I think you've earned the title."

"Never been anyone's baby boy before. Just the title alone makes me feel so safe and loved."

"Now you get how I feel when I need to be reminded that's who I am," he adds with a shrug. "Truth be told, I like the idea of you being my baby boy, but I can't ever think of being your Sir. I'm so comfortable letting you have the control majority of the time."

"Why?" Steve asks and all Bucky can do is roll his eyes.

"I've been a submissive my whole life. Having a daughter, getting married, or getting this new buff body ain't gonna change that."

"Just because you're a bottom doesn't mean you're a submissive."

Bucky scoffs. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean it like-" he kisses Steve's temple again - "I love giving over power and trusting someone to make me feel good and not take advantage. That careless feeling is something so many people get so addicted to. It's a feeling I'm ready to share with you."

Steve understands perfectly with a nod and wraps his arms around his neck to pull him into an embrace. "I know, Buck. I'm on my way to feeling it. I trust you."

"You're scared."

"Fucking terrified."

The snort that leaves Bucky's chest echoes in the silent bathroom. "I've got you."

"I know."

The bath continues to go swimmingly until Bucky stands to drain the bath water to turn on the shower faucet. In the two seconds it takes Steve to stand with him, he mentally braces himself for Bucky to wash his lower half. He knows he's a clean man and this wouldn't be the first time Bucky's been near his ass, but it's different now. He's cleaning him in preparation to be inside of Steve, and that's enough to shake any man who has never done this to the core. Whenever Bucky had his tongue in his ass before, it's when he was sure he was clean.

Bucky takes obvious notice of the sudden grimace Steve's sporting, and better than anyone he can understand why this might make some people insecure.

"Do you want me to wash you or do you wanna do it yourself?" He asks, lifting Steve's face with two fingers to the jaw. "I can leave if you'd like."

Obviously, Steve hadn't been expecting making a choice. The answer should be obvious given how shaken he is, but he doesn't wanna be away from Bucky nor have him stop touching his body for a second. This experience is for them, and he trusts Bucky won't hurt his feelings about anything he doesn't like about washing Steve's lower half. Despite being ultimately embarrassed, he knows it's necessarily right for Bucky to clean the area he's going to be putting his fingers, dick, and face. If he can't handle having Bucky clean his ass, how is he going to handle him putting a whole dick in there?

"You," he mumbles out pathetically, feeling small under Bucky's concerned glare but too turned on to genuinely care. "Want you to clean me."

"And you're sure, doll?"

Nodding takes too much energy out of his already drained body, so Steve just gives him a look of affirmation and want so intense that Bucky's cock quivers about it. "Fuck, babe," Bucky hisses and takes the sponge in hand. "I'm gonna start with your waist, okay?"

"Y-yes," is his broken response.

With the sponge lathered and soapy, Bucky begins to massage his boy's pelvic region in light swirls to wash away the grime. Never taking his eyes off of Steve, he grins up at him when Steve visibly relaxes. The water and soap mixture tickles along Steve's lower body with every swipe and scrub the sponge does over his groin. The water from the faucet is bouncing like raindrops off of his ass and back, rinsing whatever soap makes its way back there. The warmth of the situation gets a pliant moan to escape his throat only to be transferred down Bucky's. Kissing him is a good distraction since Steve barely remembers why he was initially so nervous.

While their lips are locked in a repetitive cycle of moans, nips, and tongues, Bucky slyly gets Steve's dick and balls squeaky clean with a few short tugs, making Steve cry out in the middle of the kiss. Bucky pulls away to turn Steve's front to the water to rid his penis of the suds. The sensation of such warm water flushing his cock is enough to get another moan to fill the room. In doing so, he reminds himself of why he's in this position and exhales brokenly.

"You ready?" Bucky asks when Steve, without being told to, flattens his palms against the shower wall and bends slightly to present his ass to Bucky. Outstretched and exposed, Steve awaits the mere seconds before Bucky cautiously touches the small of his back.

"And you're sure you want me to do this?" He asks again for good measure. Steve has no plans to cop out, but the fact that Bucky's asking anyway is making him all the more deserving.

Anxious and turned on beyond his wits, Steve nods and cries out, "Yes, I want you to do this. I want you. Just you. Only you. Bucky, only you-" before Bucky interrupts him with hushed soothing whispers.

"I know, doll. Just relax and let me take care of you."

The water from the shower head soaks his face as he focuses solely on the tile wall before him, doing his best to not squirm or make noise while Bucky lathers the sponge with soap again.

Bucky starts at Steve's already washed right hip; the plastic from the sponge somehow electrifies his already heightened skin and senses, emitting an unwarranted broken sob from Steve as soon as it makes contact. Bucky hushes him reassuringly and guides the sponge upward over Steve's crack, water and suds drizzling right into the crevice of his cheeks.

That earns another uptight shiver.

Just when being so exposed was beginning to become unbearable to the point where Steve wanted to disappear, Bucky's angelic tenor fills every corner of the vast bathroom when he starts to sing. Steve's too focused on not falling apart to recall what the hell he's singing, but all he knows is that it's beautiful, relaxing, and somehow he knows the lyrics.

Without Steve truly realizing it, Bucky's spreading his cheeks open with one hand while the other scrubs between. The exposure of the act makes his bones tremble while his heart pounds its way from his chest. His cock is red at the tip and stiff all over from the slight stimulation with each stroke and swipe over his asshole.

He'd been too nervous to actually think this would feel good.

"Fuck," he outright says, annunciating every letter in its fullest pronunciation while his lower body mindlessly chases the pressure of Bucky's hand around the sponge.

Bucky abruptly stops singing to check Steve's expression which is blissed out in its peek of ecstasy while his knees are bent to aid his hips in riding the feeling out. He counted on Steve's body reacting this way, and it's gorgeous to have this image imprinted in his head forever.

"That feel good, baby?" He wonders, rinsing the sponge under the water then frothing it up with more soap. "Feels nice, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but d-d-don't stop."

Bucky reaches other areas of Steve's lower body like his penis again, the undercarriage of his scrotum, between his cheeks for good measure, and even the area separating his balls and his anus which tickles Steve to the point where he laughs, twitches, and groans out in pleasure all in one breath. The pressure of the shower head washing over his ass when Bucky instructs him to rinse himself off is a blessing in disguise that releases a string of whorish moans in Bucky's ear.

While awaiting for Bucky to finish his own shower, Steve sits on the bed waiting and unsure whether he should be putting clothes on or not since Bucky didn't specify when he told him to get himself comfortable. With the huge towel draped over his shoulders while he admires the art kit. There's no way his drawings won't be the best they'll ever be with this; he didn't recall ever wanting this particular kit, but he's grateful Bucky thought of him when he'd seen it.

Once he's dried entirely, he moisturizes his skin with body lotion Darcy recommended until his whole body is soft and supple. Just when he decides to slide on a pair of shorts, his stomach rumbles in aggravation, empty and desperate for food.

The noise is loud enough for even Bucky to hear when he enters the bedroom. He's dripping wet and stark naked, drying his ears out with a hand towel and leaving a trail of water in his path from the bathroom to his suitcase on the opposite side of the room.

"Gotta get some food in you before anything else," he advises lewdly, winking at Steve when his face reddens at the joke. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Whatever you want," he says automatically. Any other time, he'd have an opinion on what he is craving, but given his current mental and emotional state of pleasing, loving, and being with Bucky, he'll take whatever the man will give him if it makes him happy. It doesn't matter what he eats as long as it's okay with Bucky, and that Bucky is okay, and that Bucky is with him and BuckyBuckyBuckyBucky...

"Whatever I want?" Bucky chuckles at the adorableness of Steve's willingness to please him not just sexually but to the point where he'll eat whatever Bucky's feeds him. It's endearing, and undoubtedly Bucky sees traces of himself in Steve the first time he'd been with someone this way. He doesn't want to admit that Steve is as emotionally compromised as he was, but whatever is making Steve look at him like he'd created heaven and earth has to be coming from a genuine place in his heart.

"Steve, this ain't really about me," he adds on, still damp when he puts a pair of sweatpants on with his dick print is perfect third dimension as he strolls over to Steve and cup his face. "Tonight's about you, okay?"

As sweet of sentiment as that is, Steve exhales and his gaze wanders over Bucky's shoulder in though then back to the man before him. "It's about us. It's our Valentine's Day. We're here. Together. As a couple. I want what you want because it's you, and I trust you," Steve protests and judging by my the wholesomeness in which he says this to Bucky, there's no way he's just referring to what they should eat.

Instead of arguing back - and Bucky wants to because in his head, this really is all about Steve - he nods to appease his boyfriend. "Okay. It's us - it's about us," he agrees and cups Steve's jaw to direct his eyes back to his own. "I'm in the mood for Chinese takeout. There's a carry-out spot on every corner here. Is my baby okay with that?"

"Yes, Bucky."

The hotel kitchen closed an hour after they'd arrived back to the hotel, so the two of them walk a block down the street to an all night carry-out and get enough food to fill both of their stomach to the brim of combusting. After eating half their weight in rice, chicken, noodles, and vegetables, Steve and Bucky cuddle onto the bed, touching various areas of the other while kissing lazily until the heavy food coma tiredness subsides.

"You okay?" Bucky asks, scratching Steve's scalp delicately, making the man purr from the center of his chest.

"Mhm," he hums with a nod, glancing up at Bucky above him and blinking through the blur his three minute nap. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Anything for you, baby." Bucky watches him blink sleepily for a second before removing his hand from his hair to caressing his face. "So you wanna go to bed? You look sleepy."

Steve declines with a mewl of disapproval. "I wanna play. We still haven't, um, y'know..."

"You're still up to it?"

"I've been fighting off this boner for about two hours now and will cry profusely if you leave me this way," Steve replies with a joking tone, but the weary look on his face says this is anything by a joke. "I still want it, baby."

That's all the confirmation Bucky needs to dive downward to slowly begin to suck on Steve's lower lips savagely. It stings beyond the drinks they'd had then swallowing down. All it takes for Steve's hips to jerk upward is Bucky nipping his lip in between his two front teeth and more than likely bruising it in the process.

Steve gets to clasping one hand over Bucky's nape to guide his lips on his fully, completing the ravenous kisses in concentrated yet careless laps. A moan or a hum emits every now and then from either one of them, the vibrations of doing so titillating the most sensitive areas of both men like their fingertips, nipples, erections, and even the tips of their ears. Widening his mouth to receive more of Steve, Bucky guides the competitive twirls their tongues go in, nudging harder and harder into Steve's body with every bit more he inhales until the blond can sense the weight of his hard cock.

The salt from the food, the fruit juice, and Steve's natural taste blast in a collection of flavors and scents into Bucky's face every time they close a kiss to immediately start a new one. Steve inhales the usual scent of Calvin Klein when the kisses descend over his chin, along his jaw, passed his collarbone, and starting up again at his chest when Bucky removes his shirt.

To make it easier, Bucky straddles the lower half of Steve's thighs to fold over effortlessly to get his dirty mouth in perfect reach of the bare, flawless, hairless skin of Steve's breasts. Lips puckered and salivating like a hungry savage, Bucky leaves various trails of slobber and obscene bruises on every inch of Steve's chest, starting at his collarbone with nibbles gentle enough to tickle then traveling downward.

Steve allows himself to be set free of the responsibility of topping for once and doesn't mind how lazy it makes him seem. He's trying to concentrate and compute every hickey suckled onto the canvas of his torso, but he's drowned in emotions in a state so high in the sky that each time Bucky touches him, his nerves receive it as a burst of electricity.

Burst there, his mind notifies him when Bucky nurses himself on one of Steve's erect and perky pink nipples.

He moans happily and yelps an expletive.

Bucky smirks.

"That feels so good," Steve tells him wistfully, shivering without a chill to be felt from the intimacy of being taken apart. It's not under his own control every time he jerks and grunts when Bucky tugs at a flap of skin with his canine teeth, damn near piercing through the thick layer of his pectorals, shoulder blade, or stomach. It hurts badly, but for some reason, his body is telling him that he likes it and proves so when his dick twitches in his pants and his muscles contract and release with every bite or kiss.

Burst here, it says again when those teeth of sink into Steve's peck and drags to his navel.

"Fuck," he squeaks to himself.

"Told you I'm gonna kiss you until you can't stand it," Bucky mutters around Steve's inward bellybutton, teasing the area with the very tip of his tongue and making Steve crumble under him. "You should see yourself," he advises, nodding as a matter of fact at the damage he'd done to Steve upper body. With all the strength he can muster. he lifts his head to inspect himself and gasps out of what should be horror but is instead flattery and arousal.

The usually pale plain of skin is glowing pink all over attributed to the angry red and purpling rings indented in the likes of bite marks scattered in nonsensical patterns from his collarbone to his waist line. He didn't feel it since his head is on its way to floating off his neck, but his nipples are hard from the attention Bucky showed them as well as the areola hot from the adrenaline in his rushing blood. The bruises are even and mostly the same size, and counting them is hard because there's so many; some overlap and assume larger contusions than others, but nonetheless, the tiny ones are just as bold and present.

"Oh, my God," he exhales in shock at the battlefield that has become of his body. There's no way in hell he'll be able to have his shirt off anytime without someone thinking that he'd gotten the shit beat out of him. Healing will take weeks, and he's gonna be sore come tomorrow.

All the negative outcomes resulting from what Bucky has done infiltrate the logical part of his mind, but his brain is lightyears away from sense and reality, so emotionally enthralled by Bucky that he could slap him and he'd still be as happy- go-lucky as he is now.

"I'm sorry, doll," Bucky apologizes with a lack of sincerity and lust tainting his tone of voice. The heat of his voice so musk and manly gets a minute mist of condensation hovering above Steve's belly button. "Couldn't think of any other way to claim you as my девственный цветок than to cover your perfect body with these pretty little hickies."

Unbeknownst to him, Steve might melt into his own skeleton at Bucky's accent when he speaks Russian.

"What's that mean?" He gathers the energy to ask, propped on his elbows to watch and practically die of euphoria at Bucky's tongue swirling around his bellybutton, gnawing on it like a piece of candy. "Oh, Buck..."

"Don't worry about it, Stevie," Bucky assures him, grinning devilishly at Steve's cock bumping him in the chest when he moans over his belly button. With no clue what he'd said, he still whimpers at whatever sentiment Bucky'd chosen for him.

As Bucky marks one last hickey on Steve's hip, bionic fingers hook and curve into the waist line of Steve's pants to jerk then downward, dick flipping out quickly. Steve squirms at the exposure and watches with wide eyes as Bucky lifts his head from the hip to nuzzle his face affectionately along the length of Steve's dick. Both of their cheeks heat up from such a thing; Steve knows Bucky really likes his dick, and it turns him on passed the points of being able to handle it.

"A pretty boy with a pretty cock is hard to come by," Bucky is murmuring into the tiny brown stubbles surrounding Steve's cock while his flesh hand performs stroking ministrations on the shaft itself.

"Bucky," he moans brokenly, breathing accelerated and on the verge of wheezing when his boyfriend admires his penis with doting eyes and pants of pleasure ghosting above his very full and probably very heavy balls. "Oh, Bucky, please..."

"I like when you moan like a bitch in heat," Bucky growls viciously before gliding the flat of his tongue over the underside of Steve's dick, emitting another moan from him followed by a high pitched whimper.

The sweet sense of friction along with Bucky talking to him like this is sure to have him coming in no time if he can help it. Steve continues to squirm, humiliated by wanting this so bad and how nonchalant Bucky is about it. Like a wound, he's so vulnerable and sensitive to whatever Bucky's doing to him, and it truly scares the fuck out of him to the point where his eyes are on their way to watering.

He fights through the urge to just cry - he doesn't know why he wants to when having his dick sucked is something he's mentally and emotional - and runs his hands over his face to card the sweat building on his forehead into his hair. Taking no pity on him, Bucky's sloppy lips show the same attention to the hard length of flesh as they did his torso minus the biting and teeth tugs.

"Baby, it's...Shit, baby...why y'doing me like this?" Steve drawls so helplessly and so deep in his accent.

Instead of answering, he drives Steve even further into submission by taking his cock whole into his mouth, the tip nudging beyond his throat and through practice and diligence, he ignores his gag reflex and allows Steve's pre-come to seep wherever it will in the warm confines of his accepting mouth.

The sound Steve makes starts in the base of his chest, rumbling loud and prominent like thunder in a rainstorm, vibrating in his throat until his mouth gasps open then exiting his body in what has to be the most strung out scream he's ever emitted. He's never been this rowed up when receiving head, but he's so sensitive and horny that it makes perfect sense that he would be.

"Get the fuck-" he growls, pulling Bucky off of his dick with lightning speed with that mess of hair fisted in both of his hands. With animalistic power, he slams Bucky onto the mattress and yanks whatever article of clothing he still has on to be discarded in unimportant areas of the suite before mounting atop of him.

Before Bucky has the opportunity to stop him, he's straddling him and slotting Bucky's dick between his ass cheeks to make a mission in sliding along its length without finesse while his tits jiggle and breath hitches from exerting such energy. If Bucky weren't so momentarily lost in how good this feels, he'd say something to stop him although he's sure his pleads to let him take control would fall on deaf ears. Steve's behavior resembles that of a sub on their way to that space, and to prevent an unhealthy experience, he needs to listen to Bucky and let him take care of it all.

All while it feels amazing, Bucky still has control over the situation and truly feels for Steve's eagerness even as the blond slips off and around his cock before eventually ending up with his untouched asshole pressed on the sturdy surface of Bucky's lower abdomen.

"Oh, my fuck!" Steve exclaiming, grinding with such fervency for friction wherever he can find it that he's unaware that their cocks aren't even align or touching at all. "Fuck, Bucky! Bucky , I-I-I, fuck- "

"Hey, baby doll," Bucky's muttering sweetly, caging his jutting hips with both hands and squeezing only enough to regain his attention. "Doll, look at me."

Ashamed of his behavior but far too caught up to feel guilt, Steve glances down at Bucky. His Bucky. His Bucky...My Bucky...

"Yeah, your Bucky," the brunet repeats just as delicately as Steve had thought he would. "Baby, I get it, okay? I know you're excited and it may seem like I'm teasing, but I'm not. I just want to make this as best as - hey , hey , look at me," he commands when his boy's gaze bashfully shifts elsewhere. "-as best as I can for you. You gotta let me take and keep control. I know you're used to that, but this is what I know. You said you trusted me, yeah? Let me do this, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Shame crumples Steve's expression as he nods and takes a clear look at himself hard and eager on top of Bucky. His head is swimming, but he's not ready to drown just yet.

With a nod and water gathering in his eyes, he nods and smiles meekly down at Bucky. "Y-yes. I can do that, just...just, please-"

Steve's pleads come out so small for someone so big. Without realizing he's doing so, he hides in Bucky's embrace when the younger man pulls him down to his chest. In the midst of the hug, Bucky continues whispering to calm him back down.

"It's okay, baby doll. I know it feels good, but I don't want you getting hurt," he's saying into Steve's hair. "I would've been broken up if I'd accidentally went inside of you without getting you ready first."

Steve makes a sad noise of fear and wraps his legs around what he can of Bucky's waist. "I'm s-s-sorry, Buck. Just want you in me."

"I know that, дружок," he understands, rubbing his fingers over Steve's back then back to his hips while he curls into Bucky's body like the baby he is. "But when it's me, would you let me do that if we hadn't prepped me properly?"

"No," Steve sniffles but he's not letting his tears fall just yet. "No. D-don't wanna hurt you."

"Yeah, and that's exactly what I want for you." Bucky eases his grip on Steve's hips to pad his thumb in gentle circles around where he'd been grabbing. "You have to leave this up to me, Stevie. I know it's scary, but please," he's verging on begging now, and the shame only increases within Steve when he's grasping what the hell he's doing.

"Am I ruining this?" He's asking preciously, chin dipping into Bucky's jaw by how low his head would be hanging. "I'm sorry, Bucky, I just-"

"You're not ruining anything. You don't have to be sorry about anything, alright, doll?" Bucky is on his elbows now, eyebrows creasing in the middle as he stares up at the elegant ceiling. "I get it. I completely get it. I'm not gonna make you wait any longer, but you have to let me do this. If something's wrong, tell me."

Despite Bucky saying he's not, Steve can't help believing he is ruining this. Unsure why he's so touchy about the ordeal, he sniffles back unshed tears and curls even more into Bucky.

"This is about you. It's about us, but it's about you ," Bucky tells him, digging Steve's face from his neck to look him in his glistening eyes. "You okay?"

Steve barely nods before shutting his eyes and pursing his lips. Bucky chuckles at the act and complies with a chaste kiss. "I'll take that as a yes," he says timidly, tapping his hands on the small of Steve's back. "Do you need anything before we get started?"

After thinking for second, Steve's mouth curves into a shy smile when it pops in his head. It's silly, but he wants it which is why he has no shame in asking Bucky to get the dog tags he'd gotten him for Christmas from the pile of dirty gym clothes they'd stripped out of earlier.

Bucky's cheeks are as red as Steve's when he retrieves the dog tags and puts them over Steve's head. The tags jingle every time Steve moves and that sound alone keeps him leveled even when Bucky adorns his body with actual kisses this time as opposed to biting.

"Feel better?" Bucky asks, genuinely concerned having taken notice of Steve's calm shift since putting the jewelry back around his neck.

"Yes," Steve proudly answers with a nod, gripping the tags in one hand while the other pulls Bucky in further to harden the kisses being showered upon his neck. "Oh, Bucky...oh, so good...y-you- baby-"

"Shh, Stevie," he croons low into Steve's ears. "You gotta tell me - how do you want this? Want me to eat you out? Hmm?"

"Fuck, please , yes..."

Bucky grins victoriously into the damp area of Steve's neck. "My sweet девственный цветок," he whispers seductively, grinding his own erection against Steve's, earning a caught off guard yelp. "How you want it, baby boy? Wanna lay on your back and watch me? Or you wanna sit this fat ass-" Bucky grabs a portion of Steve's ass cheek to jerk his lower body along with the ministration Bucky's performing "-on my face and ride me 'til you're all loose?"

Ass cupped in Bucky's palms, Steve loses all words needed to answer. Bucky's dick on his from this angle is setting off every type of burst his body conjures and all he can do is emit sounds of complete despair at how wrecked he's about to be.

"Or does my baby boy wanna get on all fours like the little bitch in heat he's acting like and have me take him from behind?"

There's no way his Bucky is so skilled at dirty talk that he's literally on the verge of coming from being talked to the right way. He'd never consented to getting talked down on the way he knows Bucky likes to be talked to, but judging by the erratic jerks of pleasure and constant moaning, he never had to.

This is a different Bucky; This Bucky is a savage with his words, and it's turning Steve on. He doesn't know why, but it fucking is.

Clinging around Bucky with his legs wrapped around his waist, Steve shudders at the image his mind gives him of Bucky doing all those things to him and without realizing, it just slips out.

"Ugh, James ."

Both men freeze.

Steve's eyes widen and the shame, guilt, and worry he'd been feeling prior to putting his dog tags back on resurfaces. Bucky's slowly pulling away from Steve, and for a second, the blond panics. It's not like Bucky didn't like being referred to with his real name, but it still freaks Steve out to have Bucky blankly staring down at him, moving farther and farther away from him. The tears well up in his eyes immediately; it just felt right to say. Sir is to Steve as James it to Bucky. Is he going to be punished?

Instead of frowning at the name, Bucky smirks down at Steve after a minute of thought and adjusting to the name since no one has referred to him as such in the longest. Steve sniffles and releases the most childish huff he can as Bucky examines his body closely like he's searching for where he wants to eat first.

The tense silence passes the second Steve huffs again and opens his mouth to explain himself, but Bucky puts his metal index over his lips.

"Don't say a goddamn thing," he growls then stands up fully to tower him. "I'm gonna eat your ass now, okay? Doggy style, now."

Following instructions, Steve lifts his heavy body to his hands and knees, ass facing Bucky while his face burns from God knows what. All he knows is that it feels fucking great to be in this position, physically and emotionally.

"My baby boy listens so well," Bucky's murmuring under his breath along with a line of lewd Russian that Steve is sure is about his ass. "You should see how good you look. Oh, my sweet doll, you're so good. I'll bet you like being good, huh?"

It's a rhetorical question, but in the time it takes Steve to realize he's actually supposed to answer because it's playtime, a sharp swat across his left cheek sends him hissing and collapsing into the mattress.

"Baby boy-" Bucky starts, but Steve's panting to catch his breath is so obnoxious that he can't get another word out.

"You s-s-spanked me," Steve's saying, rubbing his raging hard-on into the comforter for relief.

"It's a light punishment compared to what could happen next time my baby boy doesn't answer me," Bucky's whispering to him gingerly, straightening Steve's body out and lifting his hand again. "Stop trying to get yourself off or I will do it again."

Steve's eyes practically roll in the back of his head; Who is this person and what has he done with his Bucky? After a second of uncontrolled thrusts into the mattress, Steve stills and allows Bucky to adjust him into the doggy position again.

"I'm gonna ask again: do you like being good?"

Any other time, Steve would love to be a testy little shit and respond sarcastically, but that in the face of James, Steve doesn't push his luck. It feels fucking good, but he's way too aroused and stimulated to not come if he gets spanked again.

With a sniffle and a sway in his hips as if to prevent his ass, Steve nods and brokenly whimpers, "Yes."

"Yes, what ?"

Shivering under Bucky's glower, Steve exhales out all prior inhibitions. He's in safe arms.

"Yes, James."

"Good boy."

" James ..."

"Yes, девственный цветок?"

"What if I don't taste good?"

That question is not put on in the slightest. Bucky, with his hands placed to spread Steve's ass, makes a disappointed clicking sound and rubs the muscle in his grasps.

"Stevie, we took a shower, and I cleaned you so well, baby. We've done this before - there's no need to worry about that."

Unconvinced, Steve scoffs through the wet build up of sobs in his throat. "B-but-"

As quickly as he spanked him, Bucky's tongue is swiping right over his boy's pulsing asshole, in the process causing spit that hadn't be swallowed yet to dribble over the area to lubricate it. Steve yelps in shock and sucks on Bucky's tongue when he inserts it into his mouth in the sloppiest kiss possible.

"Taste anything?" Bucky teases when he pulls away a second later.

With no flavor to be detected from the transfer, Steve shakes his head. "No, James."

"Good boy," he praises with a curt nod before digging his face back into Steve's ass, each cheek in both hands to spread him obscenely wide to make it easier for his tongue to squirm and squiggle where it pleases.

"Ugh, my god," Steve's exclaiming, his words getting partially drowned out before they can echo in the room from burying his face in the sheets to bear how good it feels to have Bucky eats his ass. "Baby, y'gonna kill me. Oh, God, fuck-"

That pure Brooklyn in Steve always seems to come out when he's in this setting whether it topping or bottoming. It's the most precious thing Bucky's ever seen and it's making his heart swell for him even in the midst of feasting on the miracle that is Steve's ass.

Bucky pays majority of his attention and care to the asshole itself to get it wet and slick by swirling his tongue in relentless circles over it in between kissing at the tight entrance like a pair of lips. Once it's gathered in his mouth, Bucky shoots excess saliva onto the hole, causing Steve to shiver and yelp into the mattress when the coolness of his spit lands right at his opening.

The sound that escapes him is desperate and downright sexy to Bucky's ears. He taps Steve's ass over the cheek he hadn't spanked before with four fingers and makes a comforting humming noise in the back of his throat as he praises Steve.

"Doll, I swear you're something else," he's saying but in Steve's hazy state, he's only picking up half the words floating in air. "Taste better than any girl I've ever tried with an ass that every plastic pop star in Hollywood would be jealous of."

Burst here, his body screams when Bucky plants a soft peck over his tailbone. He fights to respond with gratitude but all that comes out is needy noises and discombobulated whines for Bucky to keep going. Surprisingly, Bucky doesn't punish him again but takes pity on him and complies.

Although he'd probably only had his face in Steve's ass for a solid fifteen minutes, it feels like hours bleeding into years that he's down there, licking him apart with one flick of the tongue at a time. His cock is hot to the touch and hard without having to have been touched in some time, but he dare not stroke himself for fear of being scolded. Truthfully, he likes the punishing spanks and being talked down on, but if Bucky were to do anything like that, he'd definitely come where he lays.

"Damn, Stevie, think I've got your cunt nice and wet enough yet?" He growls victoriously, admiring the work he's done of Steve's glistening hole, contracting and releasing with every inhale and exhale that Steve struggles to hide.

Moaning into submission at the foul language, Steve nods and forces himself to speak. "Yes, James."

"You think you're ready for me to finger you?"

For whatever reason, Steve's eyes tear up again at the question. His body visibly tenses immediately, but Bucky just keeps kissing his tailbone.

"Hey, it's okay, baby," Bucky's humming into his skin. "Just relax. It's up to you."

The thing is that Steve knows he's going to like it, but getting passed the pain and exposure of putting someone's penis inside him is why he's shaking. He has to remind himself it's not just someone doing this but it's his boyfriend that loves him more than life itself, wouldn't do anything to hurt him, and gets pleasure out of taking care of him.

He does his best to take Bucky's advise and relax; this really is about him. He knows Bucky will stop if he didn't like something and not push him.

"It's okay if we don't, Stevie," Bucky's telling him with nothing but genuine intentions into his damp skin. "It's your choice on how we do this. Just tell me, and I'll do everything as best I can for you."

Steve's mumbling over his words and now more than ever he wants to tell Bucky he loves him, but all he can conjure up is a wanton cry that Bucky swallows down in a open mouthed kiss when he comes from behind to reach. Swirling their tongues slowly, Steve keeps Bucky close by clasping his nape in his hand.

"You're alright?"

Steve nods fervently and glances up at Bucky reverently, that 'I love you' burning on the tips of his tongue. "Yes, James."

"You need a minute?"

With a shake of his head, Steve pulls Bucky back down to him to continue kissing him through all his racing thoughts. "I want it like this. N-need you looking at me so I don't f-f-feel alone . Just be gentle, okay?"

Bucky nods in agreement and keeps kissing him. When he retracts, Bucky assures Steve's head is in the right space before getting off the bed to retrieve lube and the condom.

Tools in hand and hovering above him, Bucky taps Steve's ankle to get his attention. "Roll over onto your back," he orders him and watches his action closely in case of hesitation. Steve seems stable when his flushed front presents itself, but at the sight of the lube, he cowers and just glares at Bucky's face to remind himself that he loves him and he won't hurt him.

"Spread and bend your legs."

Still tense, Steve obeys and curses himself when an unsure whimper escapes him.

Bucky smiles and reassures him. "You're okay. I'm right here, doll. My precious baby doll..."

The popping sound of the lube bottle opening makes Steve jump but Bucky distracts him to the best of his abilities by kissing him deeper than he'd ever had before, making his emotions soar to higher heights he didn't know were possible. The warm watery consistency of the lube drizzles over his ass and drips between his cheeks, making his jump again, but Bucky nips on his bottom lip to draw attention.

"I'm gonna go slow with it," he promises Steve, sneaking his human middle finger passed his balls and between the crevice of Steve's ass cheeks.

He doesn't plunge inward like Steve expects but instead swirls around the contracting sphincter before capturing Steve's cry of discomfort in his mouth in a bruising kiss when he pushes a half an inch of his middle finger in.

Without even trying to hide it now, Steve's eyes are tearing up but he doesn't dare let go of Bucky's lips on his even when the brunet pulls away to speak.

"It's okay. We're okay, alright?" he's whispering wetly into Steve's chin, rotating his finger within his ass in what he's attempts to be is subtle but Steve feels every movement. "You're tensed up, and I need you to relax or else it's gonna be uncomfortable."

"B-b-but, Bucky," Steve's fighting to protest, but his words are slurred and tiny sounding. If Bucky were just meeting Steve, he never would've imagined that this guy ever raised his voice a day in his life by how soft-spoken and broken he's sounding right now.

"Baby, just breathe for me." Bucky keeps smiling down at him to remind him that he's safe as he himself breathes inward through his nose. "In."

Steve shakily inhales once he's able to, and isn't as caught off guard when Bucky maneuvers another inch inside of him.

"Out."

Steve exhales with a huff and adjusts to the very odd feeling of having something plugging him up in that area. It doesn't so much hurt as it is just an irritating burn. It's definitely uncomfortable, but it not hurting is the most important part.

Through coaxing and comforting encouragement, Steve takes Bucky's middle finger to the first, second, and last knuckle with little resistance and a chorus of distraught moans leave his soul. At one point he thinks he's ready to quit, but it's Bucky's voice telling him how good he is and how proud he is that brings him back to earth and remind him that he actually does want this.

"You okay, baby?"

"James...Bucky," he cries, burying his face in Bucky's neck to be held by a chilled metal arm. "Make me feel good..."

Steve's eyes remain closed through majority of the treatment, only reacting wildly when Bucky's got three fingers in him, stretching his anus wider than he's thought humanly possible. The burning subsides with the addition of more lube as well as getting used to Bucky's fingers pumping in and out of him, slow at first and only picking up speed when Steve tells him to.

" Ugh, ugh, ugh... Oh...ugh... " Steve squirms on Bucky's fingers, humping up and down over the digits, wearing down hard on his bottom lip to the point of making it bleed. He feels so full - just like Bucky'd said - and naughty, and he's loving every second of it.

It's an intense feeling that's increasing with every pump, having him soaring high and beyond measures of happiness that he's here in this moment with three of Bucky's thick fingers forcing him open, stretching him so beautifully.

"You're doing such a good job, honey," Bucky's repeating over Steve's moans for more. "I'm so proud of you, baby."

"You're proud of me?"

"So proud of you. Doing so good for me," Bucky's preening, kissing his baby wherever his lips will reach. "So beautiful. Can't wait to be inside that pretty ass."

Gulping, Steve surprises himself when he abruptly announces, "I'm ready."

Bucky continues to kiss him through the sensations hosting his body and pets Steve's hair with featherlight metal fingers. "You ready for me?"

"Ready for y-your dick. Want it in me, please. Just give it to me. N-need it now ..."

"Are you sure?"

Steve gives him a sure half nod before blindly reaching in the direction of Bucky's crotch to encourage him. Bucky moves before Steve's hand can make contact but kisses him through the rejected whines.

Bucky kneels at Steve's opening, drizzling lube onto and surrounding the area and pulling his fingers out carefully until they're slick enough to come out with ease. He awaits Steve's reaction, expecting a sound of distress, but instead is blessed with a needy groan and pleads to put them back in him. To assure he's truly ready, Bucky tests Steve's asshole for resistant when he puts his index back inside and smirks with satisfaction when the digit slides right in against the puckered muscles.

Steve nearly loses it.

"Bucky," he's going on, hips swirling on and off the mattress around the finger to press Bucky to his prostrate. Bucky retracts his finger before he's able to graze it and unwraps the condom he'd set on the nightstand.

"Don't worry, doll. Just getting some protection."

"Okay." The blond nods in agreement and watches Bucky discard of the condom wrapper by tossing it to the side.

Even though he doesn't do it often, Bucky puts the condom on perfectly and refuses giving himself a few starter strokes as he coats his cock with more lube for good measure.

Steve's got his bottom lip pressed between chattering teeth, nervous yet excited for what's about to occur. Once Bucky is finished slicking himself up, he shoots Steve a look that says all his mouth can't say.

You sure you're ready and that you want this from me?

Steve nods, even though those words were purely in his imagination.

Yes. I love you.

Bucky stretches his hand to rest under Steve's chin as he pulls that plump bottom lip from Steve's mouth.

You'll hurt yourself that way, he's practically saying. "Do you wanna try a certain position first?"

Even though Steve's new to this side of sex, he knows he has preferences. He figures it's best to takes a page out of Bucky's book and request things he knows Bucky likes since part of the point of this was to see what it was like from his perspective.

"I'm okay with any position as long as I get to look at your face," he tells him, gripping Bucky's wrist place under his chin. "When we do this in the future - and I know we will - I'll probably be more comfortable with not looking at you during, but right now - my first time - I wanna just see you. Is that okay? I know it's silly, but I'd really just feel safer if I could see you."

"Honey, that's perfectly okay." Bucky presses down on his chin comfortingly. "I'd actually prefer looking at you for our first time, too. You wanna be on your back? On top of me?"

"Don't know if I'm ready to be on top," Steve chuckles at the irony and resists biting his lip again. "I'm sorry I'm making you do all the work, but do you mind if you're over me?"

"It'd be my genuine pleasure." Bucky points to be pillows at the head of the bed. "Position yourself up there."

Steve drags himself to the head of the bed, head resting on the pillow, taking in everything occurring closely from Bucky watching him, kneeling into the bed, and spreading his thighs apart with his forearm before kneeing forward to press a firm kiss on his forehead.

"This is gonna be a little bit thicker than my fingers, but it's gonna be okay," he warns him, hitching Steve's legs upwards to bend him halfway. Steve gasps right into Bucky's mouth; he's never been in this position before and fuck , does he love it...

"Okay," is all he's able to squeak out when Bucky kisses the corner of his mouth then leans lower to whisper into his ear.

"If I hurt you, please tell me. This is about you, okay? Remember that I love you. I'm so in love with you."

Steve wants to make a quip about how sappy Bucky's being but he doesn't have the heart to when he knows Bucky's taking this as seriously as a heart attack and that Steve is his top priority.

"Thank you, baby," he says back in a voice smaller than what he intended. He's got an 'I love you' right there, but he bites his tongue to viciously keep it back. That'd be too much for both of them; Bucky would come from those words alone.

Bucky refuses to break eye contact with every motion his body makes so to not avert Steve's trust. Steve returns the gesture by not letting his gaze drift even when his eyeballs water and eyelids flutter from exhaustion of keeping them open. He's on his way to drifting into dreamland when Bucky pushes his hips back just enough to poke Steve's gaping entrance.

The best way to describe this feeling is when Steve was a child and if he'd come down with something, Sarah would have a colleague administer Steve's shots and the seconds before that needle would penetrate his pale skin, he'd clench his eyes impossibly tight to the point where Sarah thought his eyelids would split in two. His tiny muscles would tense, his stomach would drop, and his hands had no control over how hard they'd squeeze whatever unsuspecting object in the room within his reach. They'd cling tight enough to make a print on the surface of Sarah's skin, even if he were ninety pounds of oxygen and fight.

He supposes the technique is from basic instincts of anticipation being small and scared of everything but willing to go through it for the better. That instinct carried him over to his teen years, fighting everything that walked for the sake of justice. No matter the fight or situation, he'd clench his damn hands and wait for that bang that set it all off. It's something that got him through the war and hell he's seen, Afghanistan and Peggy Carter included.

But, it's different now.

This is Bucky - not a nurse prepping him for a shot in the arm or a bully sizing his lank frame up before knocking his lights out.

Bucky wouldn't hurt him, but Steve's still in that state of mind of preparing himself for something bad...even if this isn't bad. It's shaking him down to his core because he's never felt that defense mechanism to such extremities in this situation. No ominous overcast comes of this situation, yet he's tense. He's shaking. He's not in the mood to fight, but here he is clenching and clinging to Bucky's neck, eye glued upward but he's not seeing the beige paint of the ceiling or dimmed overhead lights.

He's seeing that adoring stare Bucky gave him when he'd first opened that damn door and saw him standing on the other side. The sensual jazz track is mute to him, and the only thing his ears are accepting is the sweet nothings Bucky's humming in his ears.

"I love you," the brunet assure him once before kissing his nose with the tip of his own. "You ready?"

Before Steve's able to conjure an answer, Bucky's pulled away to aim his dick to align with Steve's asshole, the tip nudging ever so delicately at the stretched entrance.

"Yes." Steve nods, eyes watering, making his vision, turning his boyfriend to only splotches of color he can track if he tries hard enough. If he blinks, the tears will flow over which is something he won't have happen, so instead of aiding to his eye's burn from extensive air exposure, he distracts his mind with smiling up at Bucky while he eases forward little by little until just the excess plastic of the condom is tickling Steve.

"Sweetie," Bucky begins, propping Steve's legs to the side, resting with ease on Bucky's wide hips. "Breathe in. Like before."

Steve finally blinks, but the tears have dried. It burns anyway, yet he ignores it on the inhale when Bucky begins inching forward. His lungs fill with the the natural scent of Bucky's being, the hotel soap, and the lubricant.

His jaw wobbles. His lips quiver.

Bucky starts pushing his hips forward, cautious and careful, watching Steve's face pinch up with discomfort as he strains around the width of Bucky's cock.

Exhaling, his hole takes Bucky in, and he practically chokes.

The intense gasping and panting are the signs of Steve's physical efforts to get his breath back while the rest of his body defensively deliberates on whether to push Bucky out or relax. That needle through the arm from that nurse or a blow to the stomach from a bully's first pale in comparison to the burn he should've anticipated for this.

In reality, Bucky's only got the head in; Steve would swear in a court of law that Bucky's bottomed out and has both arms in there.

"Aw, baby, I know ," Bucky's cooing in that babied voice that always gets Steve's cock filling with blood. "Honey, I know it's a lot. Just keep breathing for me. Doin' so good f'me, doll."

Steve obeys, chest heaving a mile a minute. This is more than what he'd thought it'd be.

Bucky eases in another inch and a half only after Steve's muscles relax and allow his penis in further. The give is resistant, but it's loosening every moment Bucky's inside of him. Just getting the tip in is a gloriously difficult victory worth celebrating, but he pushes even more until they're halfway there, and Bucky's four inches deep in Steve's body. The suction feels almost too good, and it all dawns on Bucky the minute Steve cries out against his own will.

He's not going to last.

With that in mind, his actions are slow and consistent as he buries every inch of himself into Steve's hot and wet hole.

"You're taking me so well, Stevie."

"Y-yeah?"

"So well. Don't ever forget how good you're being, my sweet boy. Oh, my sweet baby boy. My love. My life. My fucking everything- God, you're tight ."

Steve sobs though the aftershocks of Bucky bottoming out, the weight of Bucky's balls settled on the lower end of his ass. It's either sweat or tears clouding his vision, but his judgments never been better: this is exactly what he wants.

Bucky fits better than he'd ever imagine. The capacity of his ass was destined for the mold and shape of Bucky's dick and Bucky's dick only. No wonder he'd never been with anybody else this way; this was always intended for Bucky and no one else .

The emotions paired with Bucky practically plugging his ass to the brink of tearing him open are way too intense to get acclimated to. He can handle the physical aspect, but the storm in his head is that of the eye of a hurricane.

" Fuck ," Bucky bites out nervously, sighing in distress under his breath.

Steve swallows. "What's wrong?" Is it my fault? Am I ruining this? I'm sorry...

"Nothing's wrong -" he tells him and Steve can't tell if he's telling the truth or just saying that to allude self doubt. "It's just-" he swallows, mentally capturing the image of him inside Steve when his eyes cast downward. "It's just that I didn't come earlier or at all today, and, um, you're incredibly tight. I'm not gonna last, and I feel fucking terrible . I want this to be good for us, and I feel like I gotta apologize in advance if I fuck this up."

Steve thinks his mouth says that it's okay, but a whorish moan accompanied with sinking into the mattress, clinging to the sheets, is what happens instead.

"Bucky..."

Translation: I know you're trying you're best, and you're going to take care of me.

Adjusting to the intrusion is a thirty second fill of insecurity and burning; Steve fights through it and at the exact moments he's ready to drift, he reminds himself that he's here with Bucky and that Bucky loves him. Tears aren't coming out, but Steve is definitely crying, clenched so tight around whatever he can reach of Bucky that he's more than likely cutting off circulation somewhere.

"You're okay?"

Steve wants to shake his head for some reason even though he's doing just fine.

"Is it too much to ask of you not to hate me after this?"

Steve's heart breaks at that. " Bucky ," he repeats, offended, shaking his head at the thought of ever hating Bucky.

"Please don't regret me in the morning, honey." The brunet takes gracious care of pulling his hips back, dragging his dick out until the head pokes at the opening then sliding right back into the warm confines of Steve's body.

Steve shivers. He ignores everything uninvolved with Bucky kissing him back down to earth and whispering lustfully adorable declarations of love in his ear.

"My sweet angel. My baby. My man," he's muttering, wiggling his hips to get Steve adjusted. "Let me know when you're ready to keep going - it's all on you, baby. My baby. My boyfriend. My husband. My world. My sun. Everything- oh, Steve -"

"Move," Steve commands lightly, demonstrating what he wants by pushing Bucky's hips back with the tips of his fingers. "I'm ready. Want this. You can move now..."

Bucky pauses to analyze Steve's expression but when he sees that the man is desperate and serious, he complies and allows Steve to rock his hips back and forth to the pace he seems doable for himself. Not before long, Bucky's ten strokes in, gliding in and out of Steve with no resistance.

Burning aside, this felt fucking good , and Steve let Bucky know that by moaning happily and muttering his name over and over to the rhythm of each thrust.

The to and fro motion of his hips colliding into Steve's bottom creates a skin slapping sound to fill the suite above the music. The fit is deep and tight, sucking Bucky right back in the minute he pulls his hips on the upswing. The younger man does his very best at holding off his orgasm when every drag and tug his dick does in and out of his man, is one drag or tug away from cutting this love making session short. All he needs is to get this orgasm out of the way to really have some with Steve.

The growls coming from the back of his throat tell the tale of him needing to do so. He usually does so much better at holding off when he's bottoming, but Steve's ass is unbelievably tight, practically forcing the orgasm out no matter how slow he's going.

Regardless, it's bliss to be over top of the man of his dreams, making love to him on Valentine's Day. All he's feeling is being expressed on Steve's pretty face, smiling up at him with a crease in his eyebrows from staring up at Bucky, nose scrunched from the treatment his virgin ass is receiving.

"Oh, Stevie," Bucky grumbles, bucking faster but not harder even though he really wants to. "You feel better than anything. So tight, wet... ugh, damn... Fucking- "

Flattered that his boyfriend is trying to hold off, Steve keeps smiling up at him gratefully and kisses Bucky's wrist as his fists dig into the mattress to hold his weight up. "Baby," he hums, hands guiding Bucky in and out. "If you wanna come, you can. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"But, Stevie," he protests yet his hips don't stop. "I- ugh, shit- I-"

"James, baby, it's okay. Come down here and give me a kiss."

Bucky shudders at the name yet again and lowers himself to press his lips to Steve sloppily, awkwardly still managing to slew in and out of him. Steve cries out every few strokes, loving every second and detail of this ordeal.

"Jesus, fuck- Steve, I'm sorry, but I gotta-" he strains to finish the sentence, thrusts becoming shallow and less coordinated every time he goes in and out. "Need'ta come-"

"Please do. Please come for me, baby. It's okay." He encourages him further by meeting his thrusts halfway with a slight upward rock in his hips as well as forcing Bucky into him. His own eyes roll back.

All it takes is ten more pumps for Bucky to gasp out incredulously while freezing up with sensitivity and euphoria rushing through his veins and muscles. He didn't intend to but his orgasm hits when he's exerting himself from Steve's body and natural instincts tell him to rush back in to milk himself out. For the first time since their first time in Steve's apartment, Bucky is quiet during an orgasm, but Steve shouts out an unintelligibly wrecked cheer of pleasure at Bucky ramming himself in so roughly.

Whatever weight he wasn't exerting onto Steve collapses right onto his big broad breasts, silently panting to regain air in his lungs from just getting the wind knocked out of him. When the man begins to purr, Steve taps his shoulder playfully and says, "Don't fall asleep now. We ain't done yet."

"Just need-" he pants "-a second to catch myself."

The silence only lasts for so long before Steve giggles aloud for whatever reason but this time around, Bucky doesn't join in, so he stops.

"I'm sorry," he says again after a minute of just heavily breathing onto Steve's nipple. "I really wanted to wait, but it wasn't gonna happen, doll. I'm sorry if I fucked this up."

The blond is running his finger through his hair, humming happily that Bucky's found some release. "You didn't fuck up anything. It happens."

"Not to you, though. You can go all day without getting yours and last hours."

Taking that as a compliment, Steve smirks to himself and twiddles a lock of Bucky's hair around his index finger. "It's different; I'm a top and have been for my entire life. I'm used to it - basically trained to hold off and not come even though I really want to sometimes."

"You ever get like that when having sex with me?" Bucky asks curiously, lifting his head to plant his chin on Steve's sternum.

"All. The fucking. Time."

"What do you do to hold off?"

"Think about everything under the sun that doesn't involve coming, like taxes or baseball."

Bucky's eyebrows shoot skyward in amazement. "So when you're pounding my little ass to hell and back, talking all this shit about how you're gonna fuck me 'til I can't remember my own name, you're thinking about a Yankee's game?"

"I think of things in between arousing and gross that I can last but stay hard," he informs him and pushes his body upward. "You're a heavy fucker."

"Sorry, babe." Bucky blushes and pulls out of Steve to discard the come filled condom and get another one. "You mind putting it on me? Getting me hard again?"

"Don't gotta ask twice."

Steve sits upward and rips the condom wrapper open. Bucky moves in closer, half erect penis hardening on his thigh when Steve strokes along the length of it until Bucky's moaning under his breath.

"Fuck." He grins down at Steve. "You're a sight to see, y'know that, Stevie? Just might have to come all over your pretty tits next time."

"Pearl necklace," Steve jokes and chuckles with Bucky. "Save it for my ass again. I kinda like the feeling of you coming in me."

"I had a condom on though."

"It's the principle of it. Just knowing that you would have come in my ass is enough to turn me on. Safety first."

Bucky has a joke ready but it's aborted on its way out of his mouth and a strained whine comes out in its place. Bucky pumps into Steve's fist twice before regaining control of the situation and slapping his hand away harmlessly.

"Condom," he urges and reaches for the lube while Steve adjusts the latex over Bucky's cock and unravels it until it's snug and comfortable on his skin. Steve barely gets his fingers out of the way before Bucky squirting lube on hisself.

"Rub it in," he demands of Steve and he obeys. Slick and ready, Bucky slaps his hands away again, grinning devilishly down at his partner when he pushes him back onto his back. "Now we can have some real fun. Ready?"

Giggling innocently, Steve hitches his legs back over Bucky's hips. "Put it in."

The second time Bucky goes in is with ten times more ease than the first time. That burn from before has diminished down to a ghost of a spark in exchange for vigorous pleasure, hardening every part of both men that they didn't even know was capable of getting hard.

"You okay?" Bucky asks after a number of times to assure his consent before advancing his thrusts, caressing Steve's face and outlining those plump lips with his calloused flesh finger.

"Please," Steve groans aloud. "Faster. Doesn't hurt anymore. Just...go. Please, go ..."

Bucky, true to his name - with no pun intended - fucks like a bucking bronco.

After that careful stage of slow pumps and easy loving that has become protocol for sex in general - gay or heterosexual - Steve didn't expect this stage so soon. He's not complaining - even if he were, the words he'd use to do so are being mercilessly fucked out of him - and it took all of maybe ten thrusts for Steve to figure out that his boyfriend is a ruthlessly rough and hungry top. To be frank, Bucky's actions reminded Steve of how he fucks, and if Bucky is imitating that savage technique alone, then Steve is a goner. He can't imagine leaner Bucky doing it like this, so he attributes the aggressiveness to his testosterone boost as well as those gigantic muscles that are caging Steve in, forcing all his senses to be acute to Bucky's face, his scent, his husky grunts, his lips when he kisses Steve, and the hard mass of his body plummeting down in and on Steve's.

"Jesus, fuck!" Steve exclaims, head thrown back, Adam's apple exposed for Bucky to lavish on. "Bucky, baby... oh, my god. .."

"Yeah, that's it - that's what I like to hear." With each slamming sound of skin on skin, Bucky forces a high squeak out of Steve's large body, so he only juts his hips downward harder and harder to keep the squeaks coming. Every time one does, Steve turns red from embarrassment at making such a noise, but he can't bring himself to care too much when his asshole is getting the fucking of its lifetime.

"Ah, louder f'me, you dirty fuck," Bucky exclaims, his metal arm roaming along Steve's upper body still stabilizing itself on Steve's hip. The other arm remains keep him upright while the other gives him leverage to really buck into Steve, preventing him from squirming.

It's evil but so fucking delicious how good this feels. It almost feels like his body is betraying its natural top ways when he arches upward to take Bucky's cock deeper inside of him, but he just didn't give a fuck in that moment. Nothing could convince him otherwise that this is the best he's felt in years, and he'd swear on Sarah's and Joseph's graves to that.

This is a feeling he'd gladly go to hell for if homophobes were inevitably correct about God hating gay people.

That thought makes him chuckle, and Bucky uses that to his advantages by catching the man more off guard than he already is by accelerating his hips to assist to the harsh nature of his thrusts. Steve can endure a rough fuck, but his eyes widen while his jaw pops open at the sudden change of pace.

Hard and fast? Fuck.

Steve whimpers, digging his nails into Bucky's shoulders now, eyes gazing upward to make eye contact with the latter. He can't process anything that isn't Bucky's strong body over his, shielding him from the world as his cock splits him open.

"Oh, dammit , fucking..." Steve shrieks. "Fucking...oh, baby..."

"Oh, it's not funny now is it?"

"Don't stop!" Steve hisses up at him, dangerously close to an edge he doesn't know he's approaching. His eyes flicker, but he forces them open to catch all of Bucky's expressions.

"Won't be stopping for a while, doll. Thinking 'bout a Dodger's game."

"Shut the fuck up," Steve laughs in between a whorish moan and a sigh. "Shut up and fuck me..."

Bucky does just that.

It's rough and manly fuck - wrapping his flesh hand around Steve's neck before plunging his fingers into Steve's mouth for him to suck on. That sight alone almost sends him coming again, but he resists and fucks his boy like the monster he is. Even though he's focused on unleashing reckless abandon on Steve's asshole, his main concern is Steve himself.

Is Steve okay? Is he having a good time? Am I hurting him? Damn, Steve's cute... Bucky opens his mouth ask all of this but instead grunts aloud in rhythm with the rest of his body; it has to be goddamn illegal for someone to be this pretty, this tight, and willingly accept such anal abuse, let alone enjoy it. This man is a fucking dream come true, and if Bucky weren't so in love with the guy enough to make him orgasm first, he'd have come three more time by now.

Steve answers all his wondering for him with the adoring look in his eyes and nods for more when Bucky shoots him a look. Even after ten straight minutes of energized fucking, Bucky's body doesn't falter at all, and it's tearing Steve right up. His ass burns in the best way, and he swears it won't get any better until Bucky positions his legs upward by just an inch and sinks in deeper than he had been previously, grazing the sweetest most sensitive part of Steve.

" What the fuck ," he cusses in his regular voice, jerking up and covering his mouth to mute his scream. Bucky stops - for once - and his concerned gaze immediately meets Steve's wet one, alert to Steve's sudden distress and ready to stop if need be.

"What'd I do? What's wrong?" He's asking frantically, already pulling his hips back but that makes Steve fucking panic.

It's was a fleeting sensation, but it's strong enough to get his muscles tensing and blindly grabbing Bucky's waist and desperately pushing him back inside of his shivering form.

" Do. Not. Pull. Out, " he demands through gritted teeth, finally allowing his eyes to close for the impending experience of having his prostate fucked. "Fuck my ass. Just ," he pushes Bucky in once, hitting the right buttons of his ass again - " like- " Thrust. " -this ."

The third time, Bucky catches on and follows Steve's instructions, starting slow with Steve's legs angled how he wants, each ankle in one hand to keep him open and accepting while the tip of his dick milks the bud of Steve's ass with gentle precision. The slowness of it has Steve groaning in frustration and rolling his lower body to chase the friction.

"Looks like my baby boy found his spot," Bucky taunts, picking up pace by a second. "Wouldn't be surprised if you came soon, huh, doll?"

Normally, Steve would make a clever joke about the baseball thing, but he's not registering anything right now. All he knows is Bucky, Bucky fucking his prostrate, and Bucky... again .

The attention doted upon him is getting his words to slur when he responds lazily with, "Bucky...oh, my James. My Jamesie ."

"That's a new one," Bucky comments at the nickname. "Want me to go faster?"

Steve's not aware of his answer or whether he answers at all. Truthfully, Steve's just not aware. He's just...

There .

He's floating. Sinking ?

He can't tell - all he knows is that he's there mentally and that his physical form is being taken care of even if it can't be wherever his mind is.

Bucky's here, but that it's. That's all he needs.

Just Bucky and empty space and...

" More , Bucky ."

"I got you, baby. I've got you."

The receiving end of the spectrum isn't what Steve had imagined. It's what he'd imagined taking a chance on moving into a new apartment in the adjacent neighborhood is like despite living in the same one he had for eight years. Those eight years of solitude would've turned to nine if not for the man above him right now, and he couldn't be more thankful that Bucky is the one to have done it. The months they've been together are compiled of the the scariest experiences he's ever endured from leaving his apartment for extends amounts of time and falling in love.

It's such an immense love that it sickens Steve to the core that he ever thought what occurred between he and Peggy was love. Sure, he'd have taken a bullet for Peggy but would take on a militia by his fucking self if it meant Bucky was safe and sound.

Peggy didn't make stars of various shapes, sizes, colors, and intensities float like twiddling particles of dust caught in the crosshairs of sunlight within the thin air right before his eyes. She didn't make his body go weightless with illusions of swimming through a dreamland consisting of streets paved with sparkling gold bricks like The Wizard of Oz and rainbow dots scattered like states in the dead night in the empty air.

Somehow, Bucky is making all this happen. He doesn't care why or how, but is just grateful it's occurring.

Instead of Bucky's human form above him, an angel, a beacon of all things good, pure, positive, and holy in the world impede all the evil from his vision. Whoever this angel is, he's wearing Bucky's face flawlessly, skin glowing like he was baptized in Jesus tears and eyes so deep that they withhold the classified passageways to outer space. That mouth - it looks so much like Bucky's - is open and speaking, but the words are muffled and low in volume, filtered through Steve's ears to sound like a choir belting out hymns on Sunday morning. He struggles to read lips to reply according, but the light illuminating the angel named Bucky's figure is so immense and burning so harsh that Steve has to squint up at the silhouette.

What he thinks is a suitable answer is incoherent pleads in a baby's voice and desperate begging. Intensified by it all, he lets himself fall with just Bucky to ceremoniously watch.

"Oh, my Stevie ," Bucky's actually saying, recognizing what's happening to Steve and cradling the huge man in his arms safely. "Baby boy, look at you. You're so high, aren't you? God, you're up there. So high. So high up there that you don't even realize what 'm saying, do you?"

The angel has their foreheads together, his wide space eyes boring into Steve's unfocused ones. They're watering, pastel in color, and flitting to different areas of Bucky's face, trying to zero in one thing to make this all last.

"I'll take care of you, baby. Oh, honey, I love you so fucking much. You're gorgeous - just absolutely gorgeous. How does it feel, huh? Being up there?"

The angel is still talking and if Steve had the ability to talk, he'd tell him how much he looks like his boyfriend and that he loves him more than his own life. Instead what comes out is babbles and lethargic declarations of love Bucky can't make out.

" Mine ," Bucky's growling, on an edge of his own, seconds from letting go into the condom a second time but refusing to until Steve gets his. "All mine. Fucking love you."

I love you, too, Bucky...

Bucky takes Steve's cock into his fist, jerking in rhythm with his lower body slamming into Steve's. Their skin is glistening with sheens of sweat, which makes the slide slipperier and less congruent; Bucky's barely hanging on and not even baseball is helping.

"C'mon, Stevie, baby," he begs now. "Come for me, doll. It's gonna all be okay when you come down. Just be my perfect baby boy and come."

The calm of Steve's hazy dreamland is disturbed by the rumbling of reality crashing back down on him. It's not as unpleasant as he's making it seem nor is it harmful. One by one, each of his five senses return back to him gradually, and it's on the cusp of his crash, that he comes to terms with Bucky wringing an orgasm out of him.

Conflicted on what the fuck he should do, he just allows Bucky to take control.

"Ah, shit," Bucky yelps, nipping Steve's chin. "Baby, tell me who you belong to. Baby, it's okay, just tell me who you belong to. Come for me, Stevie. Come on and tell me who-"

Amplified to his limits, the blond sobs at it all and screams just as his balls tighten and his ass cheeks clench together. " You! Y-you, fuck! Oh God, fuck, n-no one else but you, " Steve babbles, unstably twitching as his penis spurts white. " Yours – oh, Bucky! I – ah, I'm all yours, just yours… only yours! Fuck, y-you own it all, it's yours...Oh my God…" It's overwhelming, the orgasm.

Steve's body seizes, mouth open in a helpless cry, while tears run down his cheeks and to his temples. His spine arches perfectly underneath Bucky as he now begins to come as well, holding Steve even in his most sensitive hour. Seconds before he's finished climaxing, he's falling back into that white abyss that consists of nothing but Bucky. A fever of sorts bubbles beneath the surface of his skin, running its course coursing through his veins. It's breathtaking as well as heartbreaking, on the verge of frightening, because the pleasure is too much at once, and it's everywhere.

He'd never experienced anything like that before.

Laying in the mess of Steve's semen, Bucky rests on the mass of Steve's upper body, panting like before, but whispering promises that hold more weight than most wedding vows. It's all sincere and breathless, so he keeps saying these things even if it's too much for Steve to handle.

Steve is definitely crying now, upset that it's over and that he'd missed his opportunity to kiss Bucky right when his climax hit. Even though he's back in his own head, he can't help the vulnerability and through the wet blurs of tears pouring from his eyes, he finds his way to hiding in Bucky's neck. It's not a minor set of sobs either. They're loud and heated, definitely from having been kept at bay for so long as well as bottoming and experiencing subspace for the first time at the same time.

Usually, Bucky would know just what to say to make this easier, but Steve's never been through this and these tears are manifested from somewhere deep within him that's never been touched. Bucky doesn't have words for Steve, but he knows just what he would've wanted Xavier, Brock, or any other careless lover to say to him when he was coming off a high like this.

"I'm sorry, doll," he mutters sweetly. "I'm so sorry. I know it's a lot, but it's gonna be okay. I'm here for you."

The other man is crying harder now, shoulders shaking as he grasps onto what he can reach of Bucky's body. Bucky pets his head and coddles him close to his front, keeping his voice to a minimum so not to startle Steve.

"I'm sorry, Stevie. It's a lot, I know - I'm here for you. You're not by yourself in this," he assures him, wishing he had someone to tell him this in the past but just grateful he has someone to do this for now.

Xavier would take him to those heights and have the nerve to go back to bed with Winnie, leaving the poor, strung out teenager lost within his own mind and feeling likes he's dying when all he needed were words like these to keep him together. It was dangerous when Bucky thinks back on it. He could've really hurt himself - he remembers that's what he wanted to do. Coming down from that dream land with no one to catch him made him wanna die. It was so fucked up, but it was true.

Those flashbacks rush back and with that, the sex, and Steve's own turmoil all clouding his head, he can't help tearing up as well. In his head, he's seeing that confused teenage boy he once was in Steve, and he'll do everyone in his power to make sure Steve never has to feel that alone when there's someone who love him so much.

"I'm here. I'm right here. You did such a good job; you got no idea how proud I am of you. Did so good for me, Steve. Can't ever get over it, how good you are. My best guy, my baby, my life..."

The words are just spilling out now, and Steve accepts them all in moderation. He's sure he's cutting off circulation somewhere by how taut he's bound to Bucky at the moment, but he's too selfish to ease his grip.

Bucky's tears trickle down to tickle Steve's ear as he keeps him close.

"I need you," Steve confesses like it's some unknown prophecy. "Don't leave me. D-don't leave. I'm...I don't know why, but I'm scared. I'm sorry, Bucky, I can't- I, ah, I-"

"No, I get it. I understand perfectly. Right now you just need to be held. It's a lot. I'm not leaving, and I wouldn't dream of it."

"What's happening to me?" He wonders anxiously, sounding so weak and desperate to both of their ears.

"You're coming down," Bucky says, and he knows it's vague, but there's no other way to describe it in a way he'll understand in this state. "It's a long way down, but I'm gonna get you through it. What do you need from me?"

"Bucky, I'm so scared. I don't know wh-what's happening to me."

" Shhh , I know, baby boy. Just lay with me. Just cry it out and it'll be over soon."

The silence that follows drags on for a number of minutes that seem to stretch longer than the last. About fifteen minutes - that feel like fifteen hours - of soft sobs and genuine coaxing later, Steve has come down from his cloud and crash enough to finally lift his head out of the safe haven he'd made of Bucky's neck to peer up at him.

Their sticking together by the tears shed, sweat, and semen between them and truthfully, it's gross and dank in the air, but neither refuse to move from their positions.

"Hey, you."

Steve grins shyly. "Bucky," he whispers since that seems to be the only word he can say.

"You feeling better?"

The older man nods honestly. He's still perplexed as to what the hell just happened, but he's happy regardless.

"You need anything? Water? Food?"

Steve, still having not found his voice, communicates his worries through a series of slow blinks and a grimace. He's awfully parched and despite just eating as much as they did, he's ready to demolish an entire grocery store. He's also a little chilly now that the adrenaline has worn off, but he can't open his mouth and use his voice to ask for all of this.

"Don't be afraid to tell me what you need, doll," he murmurs, caressing his damp cheeks.

It takes a few tries and squeaks, but Steve finds his voice. "Thirsty. And a little hungry. Cold, too."

Bucky nods in understanding and exerts his flaccid pen is from inside of Steve. "Okay, honey. Gonna go throw the condom away and-"

"Don't!" Steve exclaims frantically with the deer-in-the-headlights look plastered on his paling face. "Don't get up. Don't leave. Just stay with me. Stay here...in bed...with me. D-don't..."

He's not as ready as Bucky'd thought. He's still coming down. Bucky frowns at the declaration - he's never seen Steve like this. "I'm just gonna go throw the condom away. I'm gonna come back, sweetheart."

"But then you'll be gone. You'll leave. I'll be by myself...Bucky, don't go. Just don't leave me, please..."

"Okay, okay, I got you."

As uncomfortable as it is to have the condom on longer than necessary, he takes such pride in holding Steve through more tears and pleading, telling him it's going to be alright and everything is okay because Bucky not going to leave him. The man believes every word as they faithfully leave Bucky's mouth and repeats back all the promises like a mantra.

In total, it takes an hour for Steve to drift, and Bucky takes that chance to shimmy out of the bed to toss the condom in the wastebasket, get two water bottles from the mini fridge, pull on his shorts, and get the Valentine's candy from the bedside drawer.

Bucky shuffles carefully back under the covers, sitting up while Steve instinctively makes a pillow of his lap in his sleep. After taking a sip for himself, he awakes Steve with a tap to his shoulder and offers him the water by hover if the bottle over his mouth. Steve drinks in gulps at first until Bucky warns him to go slow or he'll get an upset stomach.

He finishes off the drink and lets Bucky feed him one chocolate at a time at his own pace, lovingly petting his head and humming along to the Frank Sinatra song on the speakers.

"I-" he suddenly says, unsure of where to take this.

Fuck.

He wants to tell Bucky he loves him for all of this, but even after what they'd just been through, he can't manage to make his mouth form the words.

"I really like you."

As soon as he says it, he's ready to die even when Bucky chuckles and says "I really like you, too," over a coconut flavored candy Steve rejected.

"Yeah?"

"'Til the end of the line, baby."

It's not what he was aiming for but Steve accepts it for what it is. Bucky knows what he means and that's all that's ever going to matter. He knows it'll be a mess when he awakes, but he doesn't spend too much time thinking about it. All he knows is Bucky and getting back to sleep.


	25. 25

Messy didn't even describe what Steve felt like the following morning.

His ass - not even just the hole - is sore and he wouldn't be above saying it's swollen. He hadn't even gotten out of bed yet before the ache of his rear made him whine out in distress. He expects the sound to awake or alarm Bucky but when Steve opens his eyes, his boyfriend is nowhere to be found with barely a trace in the suite that he'd been there to begin with. From the space he'd occupied in his sleep being empty as well as his suitcase nowhere in sight, it's safe for an outsider to assume he had never existed in this space.

With immediate confusion, Steve stirs awake and springs upright to asses the situation and grab context clues from his surroundings. The rose petals had been swept from the carpet, the candles are gone, the candy box has been discarded, and all that's left of evidence from their time together is two used condoms and their wrappers in the trash bin in the bathroom. Still under the aftermath of last night's subspace haze, Steve automatically panics, unable to think rationally when his senses are telling him all he needs right now is Bucky and Bucky isn't here. He knows he should call him or something, but Steve's thought process is so askew and off balanced that he's not sure he'd be able to work his cellphone or do anything logical to fix his situation.

That's when his emotions begin to do that damn swirl again, but it's so much darker and heavy than last night. It's an insecure notion, but all he can conjure up is that he wasn't a good boy last night and that Bucky left him.

The worst part of it all is that Steve is beginning to believe it as he curls in on himself, eyes patrolling the suite with a watery haze, he whimpers out for Bucky to come back.

His skin pales when there's no response.

Bucky really left him.

"Bu-Bucky," he cries, panting so much that his tears travel down his throat on every inhale. "Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky..."

I tried. I tried so hard to be a good boy for you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry - just please come back. Need you. Need you more than anything. Come back... Was I bad? Did I not do good for you? Do you see me differently now? Am I not the same man you fell in love with? Please, come back. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll do better. I'll make it better if you just give me the chance. I love you. Is it because I never told you that that you left. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...

His sobs get louder when the silence of the suite deepens and no one responds back to his pleading apologies. Steve doesn't mind crying, but it's because Bucky isn't here to soothe him through it that he feels like he's dying. It's baffling that one minute he's so up and the next, he's crashing and spiraling into the pits of untapped emotions that only Bucky can relate to.

"Come back," he cries again and the silence that follows feels like a knife straight through his chest, puncturing his heart. "Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky..."

An anxiety attack is the last thing he needed, but it's happening anyway and the fact that he can't do anything about it fucks him up further, egging on the anxiety attack itself. If he could control when, where, and why he goes through these spells, he'd make it so they'd never happen again.

By a miracle of physics and despite his agitated muscles, he'd made his way around the apartment calling out Bucky's name with such desperation he could only feel sorry for himself. He hates sounding so weak, but weak is how he feels right now as he scurries around naked, afraid, and abandoned. He wants to believe that Bucky didn't leave him, but all the signs are pointing to him doing so. Even with knowing that, he can't bring himself to even think about hating Bucky for it.

Resigned and disillusioned with his situation, Steve curls up back on the bed and weeps into the pillow, whimpering for Bucky like a puppy left out in the rain. The agony rages on for a total of five minutes before a warm pressure presses onto his left, pulling him into the cozy confines of someone's chest.

Bucky's chest.

He only knows it's Bucky's chest by the Calvin Klein cologne clinging to the texture of his favorite green t-shirt that Steve has washed a million and one times. He hadn't even heard him enter the suite and even still can't hear Bucky trying to calm him down over the rushing blood and roaring adrenaline in his ears. Incoherent with his own body, he holds onto Bucky's chest, arms locked like a bulletproof vest around his middle, crying fat tears into his shirt with his red face buried into Bucky's gigantic body.

"Steve," Bucky's muttering to him soothingly, metal hand brushing through his hair while the other caresses his back. "Stevie, it's okay. I'm here. I'm right here."

His voice is like velvet - it's not rushed or full of worry as Steve's would be if he walked in on Bucky crying and pleading for him. He almost sounds resigned and accepting, all knowing of what is happening to Steve and properly prepared to say the words needed to get him through it. Bucky has been here before; he knows exactly what's happening to his partner and it saddens him as much as it excites him that Steve is relying on him for this kind of comfort. It's hell seeing his doll in suffering and his soul aches that he took Steve to that space last night without even meaning to and barely knew how to take care of him when he dropped. That aside, the situation itself makes his heart flip and leap within his chest, his eyes watering with the knowledge that Steve loves and needs him just as much as Bucky loves and needs him. All Bucky ever wanted was to receive this from someone else, and he's taking great pride in being that someone for Steve.

"Y-you left..." Steve chokes out, perfectly willing to never let Bucky out of this hold. "B-Bucky..."

"Oh, love."

Steve hears him sigh and immediately assumes he'd overreacted, forcing him to cry more even though he aims to stop it. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't know where you went. I w-was lost. So fucking lost..."

"Honey, it's okay. My sweet boy, it's okay. You're okay. We're okay." Bucky's pleads are sincere and rooted from a genuinely apologetic depth of his heart. If Steve could see the way Bucky is looking down at him, he'd feel so sorry for causing so much trouble.

"I missed you," Steve keeps going, grabbing onto what he can reach of Bucky and receives the same desperate hold back when Bucky lays down to pin their bodies together. "D-Didn't know where you went. Thought you l-left me."

Last night dug up emotions Steve didn't know inhabited a human being and truthfully, it disturbs him to be so emotionally dependent, especially in Bucky's presence. He never expected to sound like this, like Bucky.

"Please don't be sorry, Steve. It's my fault. I should've made sure you were okay before leaving."

"Where'd you go?"

"Just went to get us some coffee and breakfast before we left for the convention center. I thought you'd be okay by morning." He pecks Steve's forehead and removes the damp sweaty bangs from off of his face. "It's entirely my fault. I should've known you'd be this way after-"

"S'not your fault. You're here now. Nothing else matters. You're here and you're not gonna let me fall..." Steve says hopefully, sniffling between his words, reveling in sweet matrimony of his body and Bucky's. I love you. He squeezes Bucky even tighter to make certain that he'll never let him go.

"Never gonna let anything happen to you," he promises, shaking his head at his stupidity. How didn't he know Steve would be like this when just hours ago he'd not only bottomed and went to subspace for the first time?

The same thing has happened to Bucky many times before, and he's feeling like the worst boyfriend ever no matter how hard he holds Steve and tells him he's not alone. As all this is happening, all he can seem to see out of it is himself at fifteen, naked and curled in a ball on his bed, alone and afraid as his mind floats through hyperspace and his stepfather's semen seeping from his very abused and red ass. Bucky wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy; No one deserves to feel that alone.

Especially not his Stevie if he can help it.

"I'm so sorry," he says again, kissing Steve's head. "You shouldn't have had to go through that. I should have been here."

Steve doesn't respond immediately, but the way he's purring and snuggling closer to Bucky like a cat is enough to let Bucky know he's forgiven even if he still does feel terrible for leaving Steve.

"How much time do we have before we have to get ready to go?" The blond asks, already drifting with just Bucky's heartbeat thumping in his ears to lull him to back to sleep.

He checks his watch. "'Bout fifteen minutes."

Steve curls inward. "C-can we-?"

"It's okay. Just go back to sleep, love."

Steve does as he's told, fast asleep and carefree now that Bucky is here. The fifteen minute full of Bucky singing to him, caressing his skin, and whispering sweet nothings about being together forever pass by like molasses, and momentarily, Steve thinks he's still dreaming when he opens his eyes and sees Bucky above him, nuzzling into his forehead.

His head is rid of anxiety and prior inhibitions after being held, and truthfully it scares him that Bucky has such power over him that with just his presence, he can back get Steve to his normal self again. Like a magician with a wand, Bucky used his words to make the fog of crashing from last night disappear from Steve's head, leaving him seeing clearer than he would've any other day.

All he hopes is that Bucky's perception of him isn't any different then it was before this weekend.

"Hungry," Steve says aloud when he is certain he has his voice back.

Bucky nods and nudges upward to remove Steve's weight from his front. Steve lifts himself and watches with hearts in his eyes as Bucky goes across the suite to retrieve his iced coffee and Steve's green tea and breakfast bagel sandwich. It only takes twenty minutes for Steve to do his morning routine and pair the Bird Bros t-shirt Bucky took from the booth yesterday with a black jeans and those horrendous black boots he reluctantly wore on he and Bucky's second date.

Like yesterday, they arrive at the convention center in no time, astonished and taken aback by the amount of fans at Steve's booth when the doors open. The same chaos of dedicated fans asking for photo ops and Steve autographing their brand new merchandise occurs, and if Bucky were any happier for Steve, he'd be Steve.

"That's my baby boy," he mutters under his breath low enough for just him to hear as he witnesses Steve take a group picture with several young girls dressed as Falcon's and Hawkeye's. Bobbi and Daisy look up in admiration and snicker between each other when Bucky makes a show of kissing Steve's cheek when the booth settles down.

He didn't think it'd be possible, but Steve gasps in astonishment when he sees that they'd sold out of every t-shirt SHIELD manufactured for the event aside from the one on his back. By the time Bobbi and Daisy appreciatively depart half a hour before the convention ends, they barely have any other merchandise left either. When it came time to dismantle the booth to set up for another event the following night, it struck Steve hard in his chest that the experience is ending and even though he hadn't dreamed any of what occurred, it sure felt like a fantasy. He'd do this for months if SHIELD let him, and he must've been pouting too hard because Bucky kisses his cheek again to remind him that this is only the beginning of what's to come of his career.

Just as they'd planned, Bucky and Steve are on a plane back to New York barely an hour after leaving the convention and checking out of their room.

The flight was short and quiet; Steve is falling fast asleep, beat from the day they endured and ready to collapse in his or Bucky's bed the second they land. In the midst of his boyfriend's dreaming, Bucky squeezes his hand within his metal one, grateful and thankful that he has him and that he joined him on this trip. DC definitely marked a new milestone in their relationship as well as creating memories that'll last him his lifetime.

Upon landing, they went straight to Clint's to retrieve Mischka and get back to Steve's apartment where Darcy is asleep on the couch with Carter by her side. Instead of disturbing her, Steve kisses his friend good night and puts a blanket over her. Carter excitedly trots into Mischka's bedroom when Bucky lays her to rest, and with whatever energy both men have of the day left, they showered off their flight together before sleeping atop of one another in Steve's unmade bed.

* * *

"Mom told me about you visiting while you were in DC."

"How can I go to DC and not see Darlene?"

Sam's head twists from the shelf before him to avert his focus on Steve who is well aware that he's being a little shit and is very smug about it if the smirk on his face is any indicator.

"Why do you insist on calling my mom by her first name when the woman's known you since you were thirteen?" Sam turns his attention back to the cleaning supplies on the grocery shelves yet fully aware of the mischievous way Steve is wiggling his eyebrows.

"What 'm I supposed to call her?"

"Mrs. Wilson," Sam suggests as he reads the label on a bottle of all purpose cleaner before putting it into his cart and advancing down the aisle. "Or Mom."

"She's not my mom." Steve says just to be vexing, which gets Sam's head turning again to serve him a look of shock as he comically side steps a few feet away from Steve with his fingers over one another like a cross.

"I'm gonna move away from you so that God doesn't hit me when He strikes you for telling such lies."

Steve laughs at his best friend and rolls his eyes to himself at the ridiculous thought of. Darlene, Sam's mother, not claiming him as her own in addition to Sam and his sister. "She'd slap me back into high school if she heard me say that."

"Who're you telling? Sarah'd do the same," Sam reminds him and pulls a face of appreciation and remembrance for Steve's mother at the inanimate objects on the shelf as though they'd agree with a nod.

"Oh, you'd be in for an earful."

"Good ol' Sarah," Sam sighs and puts bread in his cart. "Hell of a woman."

Steve remembers the exact moment in which he met Sam's mother at the tender age of thirteen. He'd only been in high school for three months and had known Sam for one, which is the main reason why he hesitated when Sam invited him over for dinner one Friday night after one of his basketball games. After persuading his friend with spaghetti and meatballs, Sam dragged Steve to his pristine house only two miles from the school.

He knows he was shaken in the seconds before seeing that sweet and welcoming face of hers and hearts forming in his eyes when he finally did. It wasn't a quiet dinner by any means with Sam's five year old sister, oddly named Sarah as well, running around the house in a fuss because she didn't want to eat what was prepared. Darlene very calmly informed her that she wouldn't be allowed to leave the table until she finished her food, and it sounded exactly like something Sarah, his own mother, would say which explains why he'd grown so comfortable with being at the Wilson household almost everyday and weekend, helping with yard work, doing homework, making dinner, assisting in babysitting, and generally just lending out a helping hand where it was needed.

Even when Sam left for college two years before Steve, he found himself still babysitting Sarah, doing chores, and making dinner with Darlene on nights where he missed Sam or his own family had their own agendas. Spending so much time with the woman opened his eyes to where Sam got his own wisdom, bravery, and wit.

"Oh, and she really appreciated the flowers you sent for her birthday," Sam continues, smiling gratefully at Steve while the blond shyly casts his gaze at the ground.

"Anything for Darlene."

"Speaking of birthdays, isn't your boy's coming up? How old is he turning?"

"Twenty-eight," he answers, blushing at the just the thought of his boyfriend. "It's in a week and I have no idea what I'm doing for him."

"Take a trip."

Shaking his head and groaning at the suggestion, Steve absentmindedly reads the labels of various items on the shelf. "We've had our fill of traveling," he tells him and shrugs. "I originally planned to do something traditional like a surprise party but I don't even know where I'd host it after he's been indefinitely banned from the 107th or if any of his bandmates would even attend after that shit show last month."

"He told me about it. Tough break."

"Yeah, it is. I gotta give his sister a call to see if she's got anything up her sleeve." With the tenth only being seven days away, there's no way Becca didn't have something planned by now. She'll probably be calling Steve soon. "She knows him better than anybody, so she should have an idea on what to do for him."

"Well, you don't have to go that big. Twenty-eight isn't necessarily an age you turn up for."

Steve agrees with a short nod but twists his mouth with deep thought. "Yeah, but it's quite a milestone for our relationship considering it's the first birthday between us. We've done Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and Valentine's Day," he explains and counts off each holiday on his fingers. "This is so much more personal, and I have nothing planned."

"You could still do the surprise party. You know I'd come."

With an appreciative smile, Steve puts a hand on Sam's shoulder to lightly tussle him. "You have enough personality for all of those guys."

Sam makes his way to the self checkout lanes to purchase the items he'd picked up while Steve stares blankly at the cards display with no idea which birthday card best suits his boyfriend. By the time he selects one, Sam's been waiting in his truck for fifteen minutes, teasing that his milk has expired in the time it took Steve to pick a card. The ride back to Sam's house from the store is only ten minutes, but with all the thoughts swirling in Steve's head, those ten minutes feel like ten days.

"What'd you do for Maria's birthday?" Steve asks, putting the milk, eggs, and lunch meat in Sam's refrigerator.

"Well, Maria's a pretty low brow chick so a foot rub, a Bad Girl's Club marathon, and no one annoying her is enough to satisfy her." Sam laughs at the memory of the day while washing off his new fruit. "And a lil' birthday sex ain't so bad."

"The birthday sex I can do." A proud grin plasters on Steve's face as he rises from the refrigerator. "A foot rub doesn't sound totally disgusting, but I'm not sure about Bad Girl's Club."

"It's trash reality TV where grown women throw drinks at each other and work the FCC to death with how much they cuss. It's awesome."

Lulling it over, Steve takes the surprise party into consideration again. It wouldn't be such a downer of a party if the guests just included Sam, Maria, Darcy, Clint, himself, Becca, Wade, and Mischka. If he were bold enough, he'd invite Wanda, but that's a gateway into Pietro coming as well and the last thing he wanted is Pietro and Bucky within two hundred foot of each other. His jealousy would certainly get the better of him and he'd end up kicking the kid out.

With a guest list that limited, it wouldn't cost him an arm and a leg to rent out a room for the night; Tony might even have some space to lend if Steve asked nicely.

Even with all that, he doesn't know what else he'd do for Bucky. Like Sam said, twenty-eight isn't really a monumental age, so doing the most wouldn't be necessary, but when it comes to Bucky, all Steve ever does is the unnecessary most.

After helping Sam put his groceries away and eating a late hearty steak lunch, Steve hops in the Panther and makes his way back to his apartment. It's nearing three in the afternoon, and Mischka is going to be let out from school soon since she doesn't have dance practice after school. Steve whips out his phone from his pocket at a red light to text Bucky.

Do u want me to get Mischka? I'm down the street from the school

Before traffic began to move, Bucky responded.

**BB**: Sure.

It was short and almost curt, very out of the ordinary for Bucky who is always known to double text and never to send one worded texts aside from when he's mad. There weren't even any emojis to accompany the message.

"What'd I do now?" He groans to himself as he tosses the phone into the passenger seat to properly turn into the parental pickup lane at Mischka's school, sitting behind a few trucks and a sports car. As he waits for the bell to ring, he anxiously taps the wheel with four fingers, reviewing his behavior and what he could've possibly done in the past week to upset his boyfriend. It could be anything really; They may have a happy and loving relationship, but that doesn't take away that Bucky is petty, Steve is dramatic, and they both live to argue - especially with each other - for whatever reason.

Merely seconds after the digital clock on the radio flashed three on the dot, a shrill cowbell sound emits from the building and children of all shapes, sizes, and colors flood out of the exits with a variety of teachers leading them out to their buses, the crosswalk, and to the pickup lane. Cars in front and behind him drive off and out the parking lot when their kids are in tow, leaving just him and a few others. Scanning the area for his kid, he can't help thinking how much trouble he's probably in when he gets home.

Whatever he did can't be that terrible, can it? It's probably something so trivial and unimportant that a few kisses and dessert can fix.

Five minutes after three and the rush of other kids getting home has diminished, Mischka is finally exiting the building with Wanda's hand in hers, searching the area for Bucky until she sees Steve's truck is the only one left in the pickup lane. Her green eyes light up with glee as she waves to Wanda and races herself to the truck.

"Hiya, Stevie!"

"Hey, kid. How was school?" He asks as he waves hello and goodbye to Wanda as well before putting the car into drive and easing out the parking lot.

"It was okay."

"Learn anything?" He asks, assuring she's got her seatbelt on with a few glances into the rear view mirror. The child has on a Bird Bros t-shirt in the smallest size SHIELD had manufactured under her denim jacket and multicolored scarf. Pride swells in Steve's chest.

"Not really," she answers with a shrug, too distracted with looking out the window at the sights home that she's never going to grow out of loving to see to give a real answer. "You pick me up today."

"Yes, I did."

"Is it a special occasion?"

"No, I was near the school and I asked your Daddy if he wanted me to get you. Are you glad I got you?"

"Yes!" She exclaims and points a finger to the radio. "Can we listen to "Bohemian Rhapsody"?"

"Think we'll fit the whole song in before we make it home?" Steve asks with a cheeky grin as he switches the radio console to his CD player.

With a few clicks, the song begins and he turns it almost all the way up so they can sing their lungs out. When the guitar riff starts in the third act of the song, the child begins singing louder than he is, patting her miniature hands on her thighs to imitate drums while Steve loses himself so much in the lyrics that he forgets about Bucky's text.

They do make it home before the song ends, and if they spend the last thirty seconds of the song remaining to sing along in the car, it can be their little secret.

Mischka climbs the stairs two at a time to match Steve's pace up to their floor, and immediately goes for her own apartment, spare key in hand.

"Tell Daddy I'll be over in a second," he says to Mischka before opening his own apartment and smiling wide at his excited pup who is beyond ready for her walk as she wags her tail so hard the lower half of her torso shakes, too.

"Hi, girly! Ready to go out?"

Carter bounces on her paws in her own ecstatic way of greeting him and saying 'yes, human, I have to pee!'

"C'mon, Carter! Let's get you outta this stuffy apartment!" He says in his baby voice, grabbing her leash then linking it to her collar. The skip in his step and the smile on his face remain present all throughout he and Carter's fifteen minute walk around the block until he arrives back to the apartment that Bucky's probably mad at him.

"What'd I do?" He asks of his dog, running the faucet water into her drinking bowl with a frown while she loyally sits at his feet, panting and happy he's home. "Huh, girl? You didn't pee in his bed again, did you?"

Carter's mouth shuts with a snap and her head cocks sideways at the assumption. 'Really, human?'

"No?" He sets the bowl down and her nose is wet before he can even set it all the way on the kitchen floor. "Okay, fine. He's probably not even mad at me, is he? I'm overthinking it? Anxiety's a bitch, huh?"

Carter continues drinking, paying his monologue no mind.

Unsure, Steve leans on the kitchen counter and stares at his phone for a long moment to find something to say before sending Bucky a text.

I'll be over in five.

In the time that they'd exclusively been dating, he's never sent a text telling Bucky that he's coming over. He's always just done it and without a problem, Bucky would welcome him into his home with open arms and a face ready to be kissed.

After three minutes, there's no response.

That's also very abnormal for Bucky's texting habits; He always responds.

Maybe he's not welcome today. Maybe Steve did piss him off? It's not that Steve doesn't feel welcome to just go over to his apartment - something just seems off and he can't decide if the problem lies with Him or something else is bothering his boyfriend. For good measure, Steve sends a string of the kissing face emoji with the red heart hovering out the cartoon's mouth since Bucky is a sucker for those and can never resist responding even if he is mad at Steve.

After what feels like a minute or two, instead of the three dots in the speech bubble to indicate a response being written, something else pops up that gets Steve's eyes widening.

Read 3:24 PM

"Fucking jerk!" He yelps and begins to move so fast that he doesn't even remember slamming his front door shut nor barging into Bucky's apartment. Ultimately, he knows he's begin over dramatic, but there's nothing more fun than instigating a petty yet entertaining fight - that Bucky started - until they're ready for make up sex that night.

"So, do I gotta lick your asshole for you to answer texts or would you rather hash this out with a good, old-fashion fight, you fucking- oh."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Steve attempts to piece together the backstory for the scene before him.

A very aggravated, red faced Bucky is glaring down at his noticeably six month pregnant younger sister with eyes so wide and spastic that Steve is sure they're a blink away from popping out of his skull. Becca is staring back at him defiantly with her chin raised to make up for the inches of his height that tower hers, cheeks stained wet, eyes puffy and red, and bottom lip trembling from fighting more tears and cursing the ones that have already fallen. Both of them have their arms crossed, staring down the other intensely to the point where blinking shows weakness.

At the sight before him, Steve lowers his phone and tucks it in his back pocket, waiting for one of them to make a move.

He has an idea as to what this could be about.

Steve clears his throat to break the tension, but the siblings continue wordlessly staring at each other. He speaks up this time.

"I'm guessing this is a bad time?" He awkwardly announces and points a sharp index finger between the two of them. "I'll come back la-"

"Steven, can I talk to you in the kitchen while Becca and my nephew wait here?" Bucky interrupts sternly, his tone cutting through the atmosphere like a knife in the chest. He doesn't even look at him when he says it.

Eyebrow cocked, Steve continues to stare between them and his glare lands on Bucky as he strides to the kitchen.

Steven?

"Sure, James," Steve responds back just as pointedly and looks back at Becca. "Having a boy?"

A hint of a smile appears on her face. "Found out this week."

He nods. "Congrats, sis."

"At least someone's happy for me."

Steve considers that for a second and glances at the kitchen entrance and now Bucky's leaning on the counter with his arms still knotted in front of his chest. His eyes are to the floor like the solution is written on the tile. He smiles shyly at her before nodding to her brother and entering the kitchen. She nods back and has a seat at the dining room table.

"James," Steve quips smartly at him.

Bucky blinks at the floor a few times, determined and calculating how and what words he's going to use to start talking. After a long moment of silence, he huffs and closes his eyes, still not looking up.

"He was cheating on her," he tells Steve.

He didn't have to use a name since Steve knows who Bucky's talking about. Putting two and two together, Steve concludes what has happened is blatant with how pissed Bucky is and the tears streaming down Becca's face.

Steve sighs. Here he was all worried about a stupid text message when this is the reason why. If he could, he'd neigh like the jackass he feels like.

"With who?" Steve asks, eyebrows scrunching together with anger.

Bucky lifts his head and pinches the bridge of his nose to ease the immense headache arising behind his skull. "Some girl he met while we were in the Bahamas. Apparently he knew the trick from high school and they took it from there."

"Shit."

The brunet scoffs. "Yeah. Shit."

"How'd she find out?"

Bucky removes his hand from his face to reveal his eyes are just as tired and red as Becca's.

"She caught them in bed yesterday afternoon after coming home from a doctor's visit." Bucky pauses for emphasis before continuing, "y'know 'cus she's pregnant. My baby sister is pregnant. Six months, two weeks, five days, two hours, and a couple seconds pregnant with her high school sweetheart's child who she just caught cheating about eighteen hours ago. In that eighteen hours, she packed her clothes and took a red-eye flight from Indiana to Brooklyn and knocked on my door like a mad man, crying and begging me not to kill said high school sweetheart when it would bring nothing but joy to squeeze his windpipe with my human hand just to feel his breath getting short."

Steve winces. He's not sure what to say or do. He wants to hug them both, but it's evident neither Barnes wants to be touched.

"I walk in on a fight?" He asks just to be sure.

"You walked in on me scolding my sister for telling everyone under the sun, including you," he emphasizes with a frustrated growl, "and not me that she's pregnant when I'm nobody but her closest living relative."

Steve sighs and advances forward to keep the conversation between them. "She was afraid you'd react like this."

"Like what? Concerned?" Bucky blurts, hands flying to the air. "Concerned that my sister has no idea what she's doing?"

"She's a grown woman, Buck. Just 'cus she's having a baby by herself doesn't mean she's helpless."

"Grown woman?" He scoffs bitterly, incredulously staring Steve down like he's a certified idiot. "We're not just talking about some girl. This is my sister - my baby sister who used to crawl in my bed when she was five when she had nightmares!"

"Okay, but she's not five anymore, Buck! Give her the dignity of her choice to leave Wade and do this on her own. She's fucking scared and she needs her brother, not someone to judge her because she decided to keep her pregnancy private from you."

"She's twenty-one. You know who else was twenty-one when they had their first kid? I don't want her to end up like me, doing this alone and confused at every turn."

"She's not alone," Steve reminds him and looks back to Becca. She looks so small and frightened sitting there with her head buried in her hands, like a kitten caught out the rain without a way home. So much of Bucky is in her that it's uncanny. "She has us. Has you."

Visiably relaxing, Bucky follows his gaze, expression softening. "I'm so pissed I can't even think straight. I should kill him. He hasn't even called, that fucking coward."

"We can deal with that some other time. Right now your sister needs you. You can't be angry about him or the fact she didn't tell you forever when she's hurting like this."

With his grey eyes averted back to Steve, Bucky nods reluctantly. "You're right."

I'm also just as scared as you. "We're gonna help her, okay? Not only is that your sister, but you gotta remember it's your nephew, too. Mischka's cousin."

Nephew. Cousin. The words crash down on him in waves.

Bucky'd anticipated this day farther in the future, in a reality where Becca's working a full-time job she enjoyed that earns her money of her own, happily married in a home made by her and her partner, and content with the decisions she's made. To have the last bit of innocence in his life to end up how he and Natasha were - Broke, twenty-one, pregnant, and forcing themselves into a marriage that should've never happened because they were too afraid to take a stand - is the last thing he wanted. He sees himself in his crying sister, and that's what angers him about the whole ordeal. How's he supposed to do the same for Mischka if he's struggling to do so for his sister?

"She's moving in with Mischka and I," Bucky tells his man when he remembers that portion of the conversation before seeing his own reflection in Becca's green eyes that are far too similar to his father's.

The expression Steve is sporting is one of encouragement, but he can tell that the blond is thinking up a storm of what that might mean for their own relationship. He continues. "She wasn't making much money working at a clothing store to support herself without Wade's help in Indiana," he explains. "And considering she just picked up her life to be in New York, she's essentially unemployed. She's not finished school yet, so she doesn't have a text book skill set to help her find a good paying job, which is bullshit in itself because no one is looking to hire a woman who is six months pregnant.

"I'm not letting my sister live out of a suitcase or in some hotel. She's gonna be here for as long as she needs, even after that baby gets here," Bucky promises himself more so than tells Steve and shakes his head. "Eventually, it'll get crowded here with four of us, but we'll get there when we get there. I'm staying on the couch. She's got my bedroom and-"

"No boyfriend of mine is sleeping on a couch when I live barely ten feet away."

Bucky looks at him and sneers. "Steve, I know what you're trying to do, but this is my place and that's your place. It wouldn't be fair for me to intrude on you when-"

"Intrude?" Steve repeats with a genuine laugh. "Baby, we practically already share our places anyway, okay? You think I'm gonna give a fuck if you sleep in my bed every night, eat my food, and be at my place all the time when the baby comes? You do all that shit anyway! Now you have a reason to."

Bucky's back to sheepishly searching the floor, a grin forming on his face. "Stevie..."

"No, I'm not kidding, honey," he promises and lifts Bucky's chin to meet their gazes. "You underestimate how much I'd do for you. If you need help, I've got you. If Becca or Mischka need anything, you know I've got them. They're family. We're a family."

This hits closer to home than he thought.

He knows what it is like to be alone in the aftermath of being cheated on, and he refuses for someone as close to him as Bucky's sister feel a fraction of the pain he'd felt when it felt like his family was torn from him. Without Sam, he doubts he would've made it out of that situation alive.

"You mean that?"

"Of course," Steve whispers and kisses his lips chastely. Because I'm hopelessly in love with you, you make me so goddamn happy, and I'd do anything for you even though we've only known each other since August.

"Sucks we all can't be so lucky to have boyfriends as sweet as yours, Bucket." Becca enters the kitchen with a side of her mouth quirked in an attempt at a smile.

Bucky chuckles with a lack of amusement and smiles sadly at her to match gestures, too ashamed with the circumstances to quip back with a friendly jab at Steve's boyfriend technique. In comparison to all the other people Bucky has dated, Steve ranks the best, scoring perfect ten's in every category including looks, personality, sex, and not being a goddamn asshole. He wishes better for Becca in that department, but romance will more than likely be the last thing on her mind for a long time. Matchmaker can be played when her heart has healed and his nephew is born.

"I'm the lucky one." Steve says to fill the silence, and Bucky's eyes can't roll any harder. Steve also manages to score ten out of ten in being the corniest person Bucky has ever dated.

"Fucking sap," Becca hisses with a scoff and playfully hits his gigantic bicep. "This is going to be so annoying."

With a scoff of his own, Bucky rushes over to her, hands clawed and pinching whatever fat on her cheeks delicately. "Aw, my lil' sissy's gonna be living with her big bro again. Just like old times," he teases and lets her face go when her death glare intensifies.

"Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I won't fight you."

"In a few months, you'll be outnumbered. Three boys against two girls."

"Steve doesn't officially live here, dipshit, and you really think my baby boy's gonna turn his back on me?" She asks pointedly, tapping the middle of his forehead to irritate him. He harmlessly swats her fingers away and rolls his eyes as the argument advances.

Steve listens to them go back and forth for a minute or two, laughing in between every shot taken before his cellphone vibrates in his pocket and a text from Darcy appears on his home screen.

**Larcy Dewis**: u know that really hot receptionist Daniel we hired like last month

He types back.

what about him?

Bucky and Becca are full-on roasting each other in the middle of the hallway leading into the dining room now. It barely takes a second before Darcy responds.

**Larcy Dewis:** he's been a no call no show all week Fury's pissed and im sure 1000% sure hes gonna get fired

Steve's own expression matches the sad emoji she used.

Damn. That sucks.

**Larcy Dewis:** Ikr! looks like you'll be seeing my pretty face around here more often cus someone's gotta pick up his hours

"Bucky, you look like a discount version of Sebastian Stan, so please don't try to come for me," Becca exclaims excitedly, clapping between her words while Bucky fights laughter with a rebuttal of his own.

Just as he begins to respond, Steve rereads the messages a few more times and looks back at his pregnant, unemployed, and heartbroken future sister-in-law benevolently insults Bucky as a way to cope with her pain. The gears in his head turn with an idea, but he keeps it to himself until he can have a talk with Fury.

* * *

Nick Fury is a tough egg to crack.

Waking up that morning, a part of Steve knew he would have to really sell the idea of Becca working as a receptionist at SHIELD to his reluctant boss, but he didn't plan on spending his first hour in the office going back and forth with the guy on why it's a bad idea to hire family.

"She's a great worker, Nick!" Steve's saying, talking right out of his ass since he has no fucking clue what Becca's work ethic is like. "Perfectly compliant, takes orders well, organized, punctual..."

While he realizes it's unfair to other applicants to do this, the universe should allow him to be shitty every once in a while since he's been such a good boy for the past thirty-two years. Nick senses the bullshit a mile away, staring Steve down with his good eye, mouth in a hard line probably to avoid cursing his employee out. Steve ignores that Nick's enthused expression hasn't changed nor has his stance at the edge of his desk. Like a statue, he just stands there with little to no emotion with the speech Steve is giving. If Steve didn't love Becca so much, he'd shut the hell up and accept the impending rejection, but he can't seem to stop babbling.

That hour soon bleeds into ninety minutes before Nick puts a hand up at Steve, stopping him mid sentence. The noise of confusion Steve makes is downright adorable and Nick would certainly comment on such if he weren't already occupied with Steve's speech about his boyfriend's sister's work ethic and why she should get this job.

"You do realize I'm running a business, not a charity event," he tells Steve with a hint of a knowing smirk.

"It's not charity," Steve insists, eyebrows furrowed with frustration and tension as Nick idly paces the room. "She wants this job."

"Nobody just wants a job. She needs it."

"Okay, fine. She needs it."

"That seems so much easier to say instead of the display of desperate heroism in trying to convince me."

A heavy sigh breezes out of Steve's lungs at that. "Not trying to be a hero. Just trying to help."

"I know your heart is in the right spot and you're credible, Rogers, but if I just gave out jobs to everyone who asked for one, I'd be nothing short of managing a Goodwill. I'm sure this girl is great, but I can't risk jeopardizing the company on your good word."

Steve expected that response, but it doesn't deter him from trying to convince Nick. His face falls, which must hit a soft spot in Nick because instead of dismissing Steve, Nick gestures an open hand to him.

"Now, I know you're a good person, Steve. What's really going on?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "And don't bullshit me because I can detect bullshit even when it's gift wrapped with a bow on top." Nick's face softens, compelling Steve to actually relax for the first time since entering the office. Although reluctant to allow someone like Nick Fury - of all people - in on his problems, he trusts the man enough to actually talk.

"Becca is my boyfriend's sister," he admits and Nick's eyes automatically roll upward, but he continues anyway. "She recently went through a breakup and moved in with Bu- James. She doesn't have a job, she's six months pregnant, and -"

Nick's hand goes up again to halt Steve. "Rogers, you make it so difficult to say no sometimes. Not 'cus you have a face that's not easy to deny, but because of my own good morale."

His cheeks flush. "I'm sorry, sir." He shrugs and continues. "I just wanna help her where I can and make it easier on James since this is his little sister we're talking about. She's far too proud to let him pay for everything considering she feels terrible about dropping this on him so suddenly."

Nick listens, nodding his head respectfully.

"Look, it may seem weird, but I feel like Becca and her baby are my responsibility now even though she's not my sister. I mean yeah, I'm dating her brother, but that doesn't oblige me to go above and beyond to get her a job. I want to because I love her and she's family."

"That's not weird," Nick assures him, looking off to the wall with a thought of his own. "It makes perfect sense since I did something similar for the missus's sister when she needed our help." For a second and a half, a genuinely calming grin surfaces on Nick's stone cold face. "She may not be our responsibility, but she is family. You can't turn your back on family."

"So, you get where I'm coming from?"

The grin fades almost as quickly as it appeared, like he'd just noticed he's shown emotions let alone shown them to Steve Rogers of all people. Steve chooses to ignore the look, but smiles hopefully at him regardless.

"Look, kid, I'm not saying she has the job," he starts, dramatically rolling his uncovered eyes. "But, she has a job."

Before Nick can elaborate, an elated Steve's arms instinctively fly around his torso, beaming from ear to ear so hard his cheeks are an inch from bursting. Nick makes a sound of protest, face scrunched and lightly patting Steve's back in halfhearted attempts to get him off of him.

"Oh, thank you so so so much, Nick! I can't thank you enough! Oh my goodness, I'm so appreci-"

Nick shuffles away from his grip to stand tall and present like a tree as he points down to Steve, his expression reading all business even though it's purely put on. "Your sister can hold the receptionist job until she has her baby and comes back from a six week maternity leave, then I'm hiring someone qualified," he growls the last part, doing his best to scare Steve, but the other man is in such a good mood that he doesn't care how scary Nick Fury tries to be.

"Afterward, she can train under Darcy as an office hand, assistant, whatever - as long as she's productive," he goes on. Steve nods eagerly, itching to call Becca with the good news.

"Get outta here," Nick grumbles, sitting back down at his desk, fingers laced over his face. "She's your responsibility, Rogers!" He warns on Steve's way out.

Smiling like an idiot all the way back to his desk and earning a handful of curious looks from his staff on the way, he reaches for his phone in his back pocket to text Becca at the same moment an incoming FaceTime call from his boyfriend. "You're calling earlier than usual," Steve says when he enters his office for the first time that morning. He flings his messenger bag onto the new couch a team of Stark's handymen had delivered earlier in the week and plops at his desk.

"Yeah, Becca's still asleep," Bucky tells him as the audio shuffles about and the screen displays flitting glances of the apartment ceiling and Bucky's metal arm until he props the device on a stationary surface to bring his full face and upper body into view at the kitchen table, bowl of cereal in front of him as he chews. "I dropped Mischka off about an hour and a half ago, went back to sleep for a while, and literally just woke up."

"You look tired," he tells him and props his phone against his desktop.

Despite the baggy excess skin surround his sleepy eyes, lackluster and undone hair, and droopy frown he's sporting, Bucky is still pretty damn gorgeous. The sarcastic grin sprouted over his pouty lips brings animation to his dead expression.

"Gee, thanks, boyfriend," he grunts mirthlessly, rolling his eyes in a circle then shutting the lids to emphasize his annoyance. "Don't know if you noticed, but I tossed and turned for the better half of the night since I had this horrible dream my twenty-one year old sister is knocked up and unemployed - oh, wait!" He cheers lifelessly, raising his flesh index finger in mock-realization. "That wasn't a dream. It's a thing that's actually happening."

Bucky had undoubtedly been restless last night with all the rustling with himself amidst Steve's pillows and comforters to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. Once the man did manage to sleep, he'd whine until he jerked awake and found comfort again. In turn, it kept Steve up and he felt absolutely terrible for being annoyed that Bucky couldn't sleep. Cuddling was completely out of the question since the level of irritation Bucky'd been experiencing is of such severity that if Steve even tried to touch him he would've freaked out on him.

Steve frowns although it doesn't last long since he's practically bursting with the good news. "Baby, everything's gonna work out fine. I talked to Nick and-"

"Of course, it will!" Bucky interrupts, the declaration coming off far more sarcastic than his last. "Damnit, Steve. Not everything is always fine all the time. Like, fuck, can there be room for bullshit sometimes? This. Is. Bullshit."

That tight frown of his resurfaces, wiping out Steve's grin altogether when he says, "Why don't you go back to bed? Eat a Snicker's, maybe? You're not you when you're hungry 'cus my Bucky isn't such a grumpy fart."

The brunet finishes off his cereal, slurping the sugar milk in the bowl down obnoxiously. He burps aloud and wipes the milk clinging to his sprouting mustache away with the back of his hand. "Your Bucky is realistic and would like to live in the negative for a few more hours until he's fully understanding and accepting that he'll be living with his sister again as well as having a baby bopping around."

Shit. "That is a lot to take in. I'm sorry, babe."

With a heavy sigh, Bucky shakes his head at the apology and rolls his eyes again, this time at his complaining. "I sound like such a brat. I should be grateful to have family around since it's just Becca and I left of the immediate Barnes family, and we don't talk to our cousins as often as we should."

Steve stares at his boyfriend in the phone screen, sympathizing with each nod while he clicks around on his desktop to get his work started.

"Don't get me wrong, though 'cus I'm gonna love having Becca around. I miss her when she's not and it'd be nice to have another baby around." He snickers under his breath and one of his eyebrows quirk to his hairline. "We'll see how well my baby takes it."

"Mischka not the jealous type, is she? I think she'd rather enjoy having a little one to look after since she's coming to terms that two men biologically can't have kids unless one of us-"

"Yeah, that's a solid no for me," the brunet chuckles before Steve can even suggest anything, his metal hans whirring as it calibrates itself running through Bucky's flat hair. "I like my dick."

"Interestingly enough, so do I." Steve laughs too and jokes, "I'm sure we could convince Darcy to carry our kid when the time comes."

"Just so you know, if I were a woman, I'd carry your seed for nine months with only mild complaining."

"My semen thanks you?" He phrases it as a question since he's unsure on whether that's really a compliment or if Bucky is teasing. "It'd be an honor. Same goes to you, but your hips are wider than mine so I figure you're more fit to grow, carry, and birth our kids."

"I suppose," Bucky considers with a thoughtful nod of his head as it dawns on him. "I'm gonna be an uncle."

"Prepare for the Uncle Buck jokes."

"Don't you dare. I've already heard enough of those from Dum Dum."

The other man's eyes flick quickly to the screen to be met with Bucky's scruffy neck and chin at a downward angle as he carries the phone in his flesh hand while the other runs water in his bowl and puts it in the dish washer.

"You're talking to them again?"

Bucky shakes his head slowly with a contemplative frown like he's torn on whether he should tell the entire truth. Steve sighs and before he can interject, Bucky is actually answering. "Just Dum Dum," he whispers. "But that's just barely. He called yesterday to wish me an early happy birthday 'cus he's going out of town with his family and didn't wanna forget when he left."

"That was...nice of him." Steve opens the latest panel draft in his graphic software and struggles to focus on where he'd left off but all his mind can trace back to is Bucky's birthday.

"Yeah, I figured we'd talk a little. Told him about Becca and he seemed pretty happy for me."

Something in Steve's chest topples over itself painfully at the sad lilt in Bucky's voice. He can clearly tell that his man really misses his friends, and it's frustrating thinking that even as his boyfriend, he's unable to fill the hole that Bucky's bandmates and Gabe left. As significant as they are, date nights and anniversaries won't measure up in the same aspect as writing a song or just grabbing a drink with best friends he's known since high school. Steve is one of Bucky's best friends, but the abrupt manner in which the rest of the Commandos cut him out of their lives stings like any break-up would.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" Bucky travels back to the kitchen table, phone propped again to give Steve a visual.

Potentially, he knows this is going to come out idiotic but it doesn't stop them from saying it anyway. "Because I kept help feeling like this is my fault."

Bucky's face twists up with such exaggeration that it's borderline comical and unreal that his eyebrows can arch that high, his nose can scrunch that hard, and his pouted lips purse with disgust to the point where just hearing Steve say those words is sour settling on his tastebuds. "Your fault? What exactly about any of this your fault?"

"If I hadn't told you what happened with Peggy and I-"

"Ah, here with go with that shit again-"

"-everything would be fine with you and your friends."

"I can't tell if you're really this much of a martyr or you're genuinely so up your own ass that you believe it's your fault that my friends don't wanna talk to me, Gabe gave me a black eye because I exposed him and his wife - who cheated on you - for the pieces of shit they are, which was already out in the open before you even told me the details of how you guys broke up-"

"Buck, let's just drop it." He knew he should've have opened his mouth.

Now sitting upward and leaning forward to the phone with interest second, Bucky scoffs and crosses his arms. "I bet you don't even realize how much it hurts my feelings when you say that you wish you didn't tell me." Bucky's tone is stern and hurt, but the intensity behind the statement barely matches how calm he is.

"I never said I wished I hadn't told you."

"You didn't have to. I can fucking tell. I read between the lines. There you go thinking everything's your burden to carry and that everything's your fault. I wanna believe I know you enough that this is how you are or these are just side effects from being in an abusive relationship."

"Abusive?" Steve parrots incredulously, shaking his head rapidly to rattle his head of what he'd just heard. "Peggy was evil towards the end but she wasn't abusive."

The unconvinced manner in which Bucky slowly blinks and pertly grins at his partner says all he's thinking. That sarcastic look is on its say to boiling Steve's blood, but he'll refuse admitting he's a victim in any aspect of the word.

"You telling me that meant something to me," Bucky continues, face falling now. "After what felt like forever to build enough trust for you to tell me why you're hurting so much and you think it was a mistake? 'Cus fucking Gabe and the guys won't talk to me? That's their problem, not yours! It's barely even mine. It's the truth and if they can't handle it and wanna take the side of a homewrecker, they very well can."

"It hurts you."

"I mean, yeah, I miss them like crazy, but Steve, it's not something I can dwell on when life keeps moving regardless. I've got a daughter, my sister, and soon to be a nephew to take care of. And if you'll let me, I'll take care of you."

"Which includes yelling at pregnant women and punching their husbands."

Bucky smirks. "If that's what it takes," he sighs, only slightly ashamed. "I don't like people hurting you. You may regret telling me, but I don't. It meant a lot for me - meant you trust me. I would've probably done it regardless of you telling me everything so don't take that from me, Steve. Please don't."

Steve is mentally prepping to respond, getting his words together, but is cut off by the sound of Becca arriving into frame; greeting him with an ecstatic smile and hearts in her eyes. He figures what ever he had to say wasn't worth adding to the conversation anyway and greets her back. For a short second, Bucky doesn't appear miserable with his life and allows his face to form a smile at a pregnancy joke Becca cracks. Steve, so consumed with the exchange he and Bucky just had, completely forgets to tell them the news along with barely remembering to ask what Bucky wants for his birthday.

When they end the call, guilt streams in droves through Steve's veins. A minimal amount of work gets done before he takes an early lunch break with Darcy, returns to his office half an hour late, and half heartedly leads a staff meeting about the approaching spring comic releases. His staff may or may not be able to tell he's off throughout the duration of the meeting, but none of them say anything. Kate notices, but instead of outright asking him what is bothering him, she assists him on a panel or two, making jokes and keeping conversation light to distract him from the storm brewing in his head.

The dejected mood carries onto when he gets home from work, and instead of being her regular self in cheering her owner up, Carter sympathizes and don't hassle him with a rambunctious greeting when he lets her out of her cage in the kitchen. She's by his side as quiet and loyal as ever when he takes his sweet time dressing down to a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve.

Neither Bucky or Becca are at their apartment - more than likely getting Mischka from school- which poses the perfect opportunity to do last minute birthday shopping for a gift he can overnight express ship to Brooklyn before the tenth. His head is so clouded with their conversation from before that he doesn't remember putting anything in his cart, paying for it, or reading the confirmation that is delivered to his email inbox moments later.

* * *

Steve is awake before Bucky the morning of the tenth. There's nothing peculiar about it, and normally, it baffles Steve how he can sleep later than ten, but today, it aids Steve in carrying out his plan for the day. Before hopping in the shower and getting dressed, the blond sneaks over to Bucky's apartment to lightly knock on the door so to get Becca's attention, but not wake Bucky or Mischka.

A quick second later, the door opens and Becca's stretched abdomen greets Steve before her words do. Her makeup is half done and her eyes glow in the morning light as she looks up at Steve meaning she must've been awake for quite some time.

"Good morning, big brother," she sing-songs, happily. "He's still asleep?"

Steve nods and wipes some sleep crust from the inner corners of his eyes with a yawn. "Got everything you need for tonight?"

Twirling her hair around one finger, she makes a humming noise of thought as she glances behind her into the apartment to look at the the multiple plastic bags withholding decorations from the party store scattered in the middle of the floor and over the sofa. "Just about," she answers, turning back to him. "I should be done with all this by tonight."

"How are you gonna keep him out of his own apartment all day?"

"I've got Clint and James on it."

"James?"

"He's our favorite cousin on Mom's side. He and Bucket were always pretty close given they share a name," she explains fondly, voice airy and lighthearted like she's reminiscing. "I called him a while back to see if he could come by and help without Bucket knowing."

"A while back," Steve repeats as his eyebrows furrow together.

"He lives up in Jersey, so it's no problem for him to drive down with his kids for the day. The rest of them are getting in today."

Them.

Them as in the remainder of Bucky's family.

Holy shit.

"How'd you managed to get your cousins to come here from Indiana on such short notice?"

Becca shrugs easily. "Mom's family isn't gonna deny their favorite baby cousins a visit, especially for Bucket's birthday. A good amount of them haven't seen Mischka since she was a baby, anyway."

"Wow," Steve exhales in amazement at the efficiency in how she complete tasks, but steadily gulps down a nervous lump lodged between his tongue and throat. Meeting the rest of the family wasn't exactly on the list of things he'd planned for Bucky's birthday, and to be honest, he didn't know what to anticipate when he'd asked Becca to throw together a party three days before the tenth. Not having a substantial amount of guests was his main concern for a party, but Becca certainly did pull through in ways he never would've been able to.

He jerks two grateful thumbs-up in her direction and smiles with genuine appreciation. "Awesome. And what time is the catering coming?"

"Around six-ish? Think you can keep him occupied 'til then?"

"Yeah, I'll just make something up."

"Perfect! What time did the bakery say the cake would be ready?"

"One," Steve remembers. "I'm gonna pick it up later and take it back to my place. Think your cousin can keep him out?"

"James always finds a way." She playfully punches his shoulder. "Don't worry, Steve. Everything will work out fine."

"Not exactly what 'm worried about."

Her grin is more reassuring than anything and it melts something in Steve's chest. She looks so much like Bucky that it's unfair. "Meeting the extended family is always nerve wracking. When I met Wade's, I felt like I was gonna throw up the whole time."

"The way he'd always made it seem was that you guys and your cousins weren't on speaking terms, so I never thought to freak out about it."

"Some of the cousins on that side of the family are a little sensitive when it comes to Bucket's sexuality. Fair majority of our elders ineffectively disowned Winnie for condoning a homosexual son, but at the time they were too old to even understand. I mean, they're dead now anyway, so-" She shrugs a lone shoulder.

"But the family members that are coming-" he prompts wearily. The last thing anybody needed was an episode of homophobic in their apartment building.

"I wouldn't allow anyone to ruin Bucket's special day," she interrupts. "Now, when they find out he's got a boyfriend and that I'm having a baby out of wedlock-" she pulls a humorously displeased face and shakes her head. "Let's just say that mom's side of the family love drama. Now, you go get ready! I need to finish up here!"

She shoos him with a dismissive flick of her hand and shuts the door before he makes it back to his own apartment. It's quiet inside, but Steve's head is still loud.

There's no way she'd invite people who weren't accepting of Bucky having a boyfriend, even if they are family. There's nothing to worry about...

Yet.

The objective of the day until that night is assuring Bucky didn't go into his own apartment. With the help of Clint, Becca, and now James, it'd be possible, and the party itself would go swimmingly even as his anxiety - personified as a demoralizing version of himself with a low tipped fedora and a smoking cigarette hanging from his lips - shakes its head slowly, rolling its nearly transparent blue eyes at the childish notion that anything in Steve's life will go well.

Managing to not dawn on it succeeds when he reenters the bedroom to see Bucky is still asleep, practically purring rather than snoring with his mouth slightly ajar and lips chapped from the atmosphere. Towel in hand, Steve traipses with gentle pressure on the carpet from the entrance to the bathroom so not to wake Bucky before he's ready.

His shower is short yet thorough and Bucky is halfway awake with a slight stir when Steve exits the bathroom with his towel hanging loosely around his waist. This time around he makes a bit of a show and tell of moving around by shutting the bathroom door louder than usual, grunting and humming as he picks out an outfit in his walk-in, and turning on lights. Steve's body is dried and moisturized, with his hair styled, facial stubble trimmed, and sporting a pair of his casual grey slacks when Bucky's eyes open, adorably register his surroundings, and soundlessly yawns. He stares at Steve for a moment before a rush of warmth washes over him at the sight of his favorite person doing something as simple as buckling a black belt on his tiny waist. The aroma flirting within his nostrils is husky and masculine - it's Steve's cologne. It only assists in making him feel even safer as he lays in this immensely comfortable bed and watches Steve's back muscle flex and stretch while he gets dressed.

The clock reads around the time when Steve would be getting dressed and leaving for work.

Bucky's grin immediately falters.

"Stevie," he calls to him, his voice gravely from disuse.

Steve turns at the heartfelt nickname and the apologetic demeanor in which he's looking down at him already tells him what he needs to know. If it weren't so heartbreaking, he'd be fascinated with how quickly it took for his birthday to be ruined. Just his luck to be barely awake for five seconds and he already feels like crying.

"Good morning, baby boy," he coos, sending shivers along the length of Bucky's spine and nerve endings with how soft such a deep voice can sound.

The defeated look Bucky gives him after noticing the work pants and time breaks Steve, but he maintains the act despite wanting to just reveal everything so he'd give him a smile.

"G'mornin'," he exhales and rolls over to meet Steve halfway when he squats before him at the edge of the bed and places a lock of his hair behind his ear.

There's a brief silence of understanding between them after Steve presses his lips to the surface of Bucky's forehead and murmurs, "Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

During this silence, Bucky pouts up at him and his eyes scream for an explanation.

"I asked Fury for the day off but something came up, y'know?"

Bucky pulls away from him to detect the sincerity in his eyes. He can always tell when Steve is lying, but given that he's a terrible liar, anyone can. Steve matches his boyfriend's upset expression, prepared to plead his case if Bucky calls his bullshit. "It's not your fault," he finally mumbles.

"I'm sorry, Buck. I really am, love, but if I could, I'd say fuck all to this meeting this morning. As the manager, I kinda I can't, and I really feel like shit."

"It's fine," he lies, pouting up at Steve, and the urge to snag that lip between his teeth intensifies. He feels terrible for playing such a mean trick, but he figures it'll be worth it in the end.

"I'm so sorry," Steve repeats, kissing his forehead a handful more times. "I'm a terrible boyfriend, aren't I?"

Bucky pauses as though to consider it. "The absolute worse," he chuckles with Steve. "Just as long as you and Becca are still free for dinner tonight."

"Absolutely."

"You promise?"

"I swear." Steve crosses his middle and index finger across another behind his back.

With a peck to the corner of Steve's mouth, Bucky finally smiles. "Becca's got interviews all day, Clint's got work, my kid has school, and now my boyfriend is leaving me. Some birthday."

"We still have tonight," Steve reminds him and stands to retrieve his wallet from atop of the dresser. "I'm leaving my keys with you so that you're not stuck at home all day." He finds his debit card and holds it out for Bucky to take when he crouches back down next to the bed. "Take my card and treat yourself for the day."

Bucky eyes the card then Steve, shaking his head. "Baby, I don't-"

"Just take it," Steve insists, refusing to take no as an answer. "It's your birthday, so lemme treat you."

"You already do so much though." Bucky takes the card and begins to tentatively flip it around in his hands.

"Yeah, but I want you to have a good day on me. I was gonna spend money on you today regardless."

Scrunching his eyebrows together in grave confusion, Bucky blinks once at Steve. "Why are you being so corny and nice and white today?"

Steve barks out a short laughs. He loves him so much. "I feel bad, okay? Just allow me to be corny, nice, and white for the sake of your birthday. Take the Panther, take my card, and have fun," he pauses before continuing with an afterthought. "But not too much fun 'cus rent is due on the fifteenth. Fill the tank while you're out though."

"Will do. Want me to get you from work?"

"Yeah, sounds good." Steve kisses his forehead once and stands to his full height to finish getting dressed.

Bucky places the debit card on the bedside table before getting his lower body reacquainted with the underside of the comforter, resuming his fascinated watch of Steve putting an off-white knit sweater over his t-shirt, adjusting his watch, and lacing up his leather boots from the warmth of the bed. He doesn't miss how Steve admires his dog tags before safely tucking them under his shirt.

"Have a good day, okay?" Steve tells him on his way out the bedroom door.

Bucky nods. "I'll try. Have a successful day at work. Make money. Draw stuff. Manage shit."

"Such a pep talk."

"I try."

Steve opens the door and is about to call out one last goodbye, but it's aborted on the way out of his mouth when Bucky makes a noise of frustration to get his attention and hops out of the bed.

"Kiss," he reminds him childishly, squeaking with glee when their lips collide and press. Steve rolls his eyes in mock-annoyance when Bucky dramatically pecks all over his face, metal arm around his neck keeping them close even as Steve pretends to get away.

"You're such a spoiled brat, I swear," Steve grumbles under his breath when Bucky releases him after what felt like one hundred kisses peppered on his forehead descending to his jawline. Carter follows close behind Bucky, tail wagging with excitement, while Bucky walks Steve to the front door.

"What time am I getting you?" Bucky asks, leaning on the open door.

Steve thinks for a moment. "Six-thirty is fine."

"Alright," he says with a nod as he absently scratches the crown of Carter's head when she sits upon his toes, staring up him for attention. "Have a good day, baby. I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight," Steve agrees and gives him a final smile before Bucky shuts the door. Steve rounds the stairs to get to the exit on the first floor, humming to himself as he does, feeling at peace with how the day might unfold. His anxiety is overthrowing him with apprehension but he's confident regardless as he walks down his block, hums escalating to whistles, thinking nonstop about meeting Bucky's family.

Instead of thinking too hard and too long about it, Steve inserts his earphones and turns the music to its maximum volume to tune out his surroundings and enjoy his walk to the subway to get to the city.

After he shuts the door behind Steve, Bucky sighs in defeat with his arms folded over his chest in frustration.

So much for birthday morning sex.

Nothing would have made this birthday better than waking up to maybe Steve sucking him off or massaging his balls - even just playing in his hair would have done it for him. Granted, Steve usually does all those things on days that aren't as significant as a birthday, but it doesn't change the fact that Bucky wants to pelt Steve's office building with eggs.

As long as he and Becca kept their promises about tonight, he'd be okay.

Even if it is his birthday, Bucky's priorities and responsibilities aren't any different, so he rolls his eyes one last time on the whole thing and makes his way down the hallway to the guest room. He knocks once with his flesh hand to alert the child inside of his arrival before twisting the knob and pushing the door open. Mischka is rustling awake, stretching her tiny limbs above her body to relieve them of the pent up energy developed in her slumber while disturbed whines squeak from her parted pink lips. Bucky leans on the threshold to watch her wake, glance around to get her eyes adjusted to the surroundings, and then close them again all the while her body slides itself back under her quilt and her head rests on her dozens of pillows. Within moments, she's asleep again.

Just when he's about to call out her name, he stops himself and shuts his mouth. It took a little effort not to cry about everyone being busy today, and ultimately the thought of keeping her home from school so he doesn't have to be alone on his birthday is selfish and could easily classify as downright ridiculous. The only con he's coming up with is that she'll miss a day of learning, but realistically what could a second grader miss out on on Friday? She doesn't have dance practice after school so would she really be missing anything?

Bucky shuts the door behind him quietly so not to awake her then walks down to the hall to the kitchen where Carter's nose is buried in her food as she noisily munches its down.

"Worst comes to worst, guess I can spend my day with you, huh, girl?" He says to her, fully aware she's not paying him any mind. Reaching inside Steve's fridge, he grabs the carton of orange juice and pours himself a glass. In the midst of drinking, a knock on the front door echoes throughout the still apartment. Carter merely glances in the direction of the door and continues to eat as Bucky peeps through the threshold. Smiling as he does so, he opens the door for his sister and embraces her when she steps forward.

"Happy birthday, big bro," her words are muffled as they mumble into his chest. "Good morning."

"Thanks, Beck." He pecks a soft kiss to her hair and lets her go so he can crouch at eye level with her protruding stomach. "Good morning, nephew. Jeez, this kid's gonna be huge."

Becca subconsciously rubs over her middle as she advances into the apartment. Bucky shuts the door behind her. "I asked my doctor if I should be this big at twenty-five weeks and according to her, I am. She'd be alarmed if my belly were smaller."

"Natasha's stomach was about as big when she was six or seven months," Bucky remembers, mentally comparing the stomach sizes based on memory. "Then again, Nat was, like, five-three, so she looked huge even at four months."

Becca follows him into the kitchen and accepts the glass of orange juice he pours then offers her. "Well, Mischka's gonna be a tall kid, so it makes sense as to why she looked so big in Natasha's tiny body."

"The pediatrician predicts she'll be about five-eight, maybe five-nine by the time she gets to high school."

"Damn. She got your height and Natasha's everything else."

With a dramatic sigh, Bucky runs his hands down his face. "She turns seven in four months. Still don't know what we're gonna do with her beyond that age."

In between delicate sips of her orange juice; Becca shrugs. "Let's just deal with one birthday before we get to the next."

"Technically, Steve's birthday is next. He and Mischka are three days apart."

"Explains why they get along so well and why they love you so much. Cancers are a sympathetic group of people and usually make great romantic partners for Pisces," she explains in a matter-of-fact manner that gets Bucky's eyes rolling instantly.

"Are you still on that zodiac bullshit?"

"It's not bullshit. It's all real!" she insists with conviction, voice reaching its pitch like a whistle when she exclaims.

"Bullshit," he repeats and chugs down the remainder of his glass, imagining it's a beer instead.

Staring her brother down incredulously, Becca pouts and washes her glass out in the sink. "Whatever, Bucket. Just 'cus you don't believe it doesn't mean it's not true. I should've known Wade and I weren't compatible. Taurus woman seldom find suitable matches."

"Has he called yet?"

"This morning."

"To say what?"

"To tell you happy birthday."

"And you said?"

"That he should go fuck himself and only call me if it has to do with his son."

Bucky nods, not showing how proud he is by ducking his chin down to his neck. "You guys work out the custody thing yet?"

"He's being surprisingly compliant with all my parental demands."

"You're not afraid the course system's gonna give him full custody because of the money situation?" Bucky would be a liar if he hadn't thought about the likelihood of Becca's son being taken away from her because she can't afford him on her own.

"Afraid? No. Wade's a piece of shit, but he'll be a good dad if it comes down to that. I'll do what's best for my son even if that means I can't see him when he gets here."

The thought of Mischka being taken away scared the shit out of Bucky enough for him to give up drinking. He'll never forget that day that social worker threatened to give her to Natasha's parents if he didn't get his shit together. He's never been more diligent in getting his life back in order - not that is ever really was, but more so in order enough to raise a baby.

Even still, he feels like he doesn't have a grip on any of it. He refuses to let Becca go through a sliver of that agony.

"I wouldn't let that happen," he promises more so to himself than his sister who is giving him this helplessly hopeful look, believing every word he says and it fucking kills him. For a second and a half, she's that five year old little girl again crawling into Bucky's bed in the dead of night when she'd been stirred awake by a nightmare or their parents's loud fighting.

To lighten the mood they'd created, Becca smirks up at him and flips her russet waves over her shoulder. "A Pisces would say something that cheesy."

Bucky can't help laughing now. "If you weren't pregnant, I'd punch you for being such a corny lil' shit."

"You shouldn't punch people, Daddy."

The siblings simultaneously turn to the kitchen entrance to watch Mischka lazily shuffle into the room with her hair flat from laying on it, eyes squinted as her pupils adjust from the dimness of her bedroom to the drastically brighter lighting of the kitchen. The sight of her is adorable, and the impulse within Bucky to keep her home grows. "You know I'm just joking, doll," Bucky says, heaving to pick her up and plop her on his hip. Like a puzzle piece, her head fits snugly in between his shoulder and jaw, warm and safe in his grasp despite the usual chill of his metal arm pressing against her back. Bucky instinctively kisses her crown, ignoring how much heavier she is to hold; it's not a struggle to keep her in his arms, but it's something he's noticing along with how far her legs hang down off of his body. All she needs to do is wiggle in the slightest and she's on the ground.

As far as six year olds go, she's big.

Bucky didn't hit a growth spurt until he was at least fifteen, but height ran in the Barnes family like no other trait. Natasha had always been tiny, but he wouldn't be surprised if Mischka's pediatrician were right on her being tall.

It throws him off for such a mature being to have the voice of what he imagines a cartoon kitten sounds like cheerfully tell him happy birthday and she loves him. "How old are you today?" She asks, drifting between consciousness and deliberately staying awake. "I bet you're old."

"Well, I'm twenty-eight today, Mischka. That's two years 'till thirty, so I guess I'm kinda old."

Becca chortles. "If twenty-eight is old, Steve must be ancient."

"I wouldn't look past it. Thirty-two is the new ninety. He wears sweaters over his button-ups, goes out of his way to read newspapers, and listens to jazz instrumentals. Ancient ain't even the word for him."

"And God, Clint's, like, what? Thirty-one? Yeah, he's on his way to the nursing home, too," his sister adds, nodding and zeroing in at a spot on the tile floor as she muses. "Twenty-one is still pretty young, right?"

"Lord knows I'm happy to not be twenty-one anymore."

Mischka huffs sleepily. "I don't wanna be twenty-anything."

With all the willpower in the world, Bucky decides to let Mischka go to school. He pretends he's not at all hurt and dreading the next few hours alone until he has to get Steve from his office as he helps Mischka pick out a comfortable outfit consisting of jeans and a pink hoodie jacket fit for the semi-cold weather. Afterward, he fixes her a quick turkey bacon and fruit salad breakfast then proceeds with assisting her in doing hair while she brushes the meal out of her mouth.

He gets her to school on time and naturally, he wants to sleep when he gets back to the apartment, but instead checks his voicemail for any jobs calling him back for an interview or maybe from one of the Howlies wishing him a happy birthday. Sam sent him a message that warmed his heart more than others and for a full moment, he didn't feel like such a piece of shit. Aside from other friends, acquaintances, and family member wishing him a happy twenty-eighth, nothing worth paying attention to presents itself on his phone, so he puts it on the charger while he showers and gets dressed. His eyes inevitably roll every time he sees Steve's card; he has no issue being spoiled, but the significance is withered if Steve can't physically be here to do so.

On the brink of letting himself get lost in his own head, an abrupt knock on the front door knocks him out of his train of thought. It's probably Becca letting him know she's off to her first interview. Carter worms off of him when he stands up, only slightly inconvenienced that her pillow is gone.

"Look, Beck," he begins, swinging the door open and the person on the other side has him feeling like he's staring straight into a mirror. His jaw drops somehow at the same time that he shuts his mouth, confusing his brain on how his body should react to looking at his cousin, James, in the flesh after what has been about two years.

"Cuzin'," he greets in a put-on country drawl, smirking like the cat who got the canary while he tips an imaginary hat in Bucky's direction. Bucky's shock advances to nostalgic fondness that his cousin remembers their special greeting.

"Cuzin'," Bucky repeats with an accent of his own not too different from the one he'd acquired from moving back to Brooklyn. James notices and punches his metal limb, keeping his grin.

"You've gotten all city boy on me again."

"You're still a bumpkin, so who's the real winner here?"

James scoffs in mock disgust, but doesn't have the heart to stop smiling at his favorite cousin. "My baby cousin is still an asshole. Nice."

"I ain't a baby."

"Ah, that's right! You're twenty-eight today! How convenient that I, your cousin-brother, am here, almost eight-hundred miles from home, on this specific day. What a coincidence, right?"

"I'll take that as 'happy birthday.'" Bucky rolls his eyes at the bland sarcasm that runs in this family. "Come on in."

He widens the door to let James inside and shuts it behind himself. Carter is already inspecting this new stranger, sniffing snd licking along James's pant leg to familiarize herself. James had always been a cat person, but he pets the animal anyway.

"And who's this?" He asks, referring to Carter who hops in excitement as though she's trying to tell him herself.

"That's my dog daughter, Carter. Cute, isn't she?" Bucky grins at their interaction, taking a seat at Steve's desk chair on the other side of the room.

"Adorable. Nothing screams country than having a golden retriever. How's my favorite niece?"

"You know Mischka is your cousin, too."

"Stop being so technical. How is she?"

"Doing as great as ever. Getting all A's and B's, sharp as a tack, joined the dancing team at her school, creative as hell-" he could go on forever. "I swear she's just like Natasha."

"Yeah, I don't think Nat would've let you get a dog this big. A cat, maybe. When did you get her?"

"Well, I didn't get her," he says before he can stop himself. "She's my boyfriend's dog."

Bucky hadn't meant to let that slip, and it's too late to bite his lip to take it back now as James looks up at him quizzically, smirking at his choice of words.

It's not that James is homophobic like everyone else in Indiana or Jersey that he regrets letting out that tidbit of information so soon...

"Your what?" He prompts, standing.

It's because he'll relentlessly tease Bucky until his next birthday about having a boyfriend even at the ripe age of twenty-eight. James was bound to find out sooner or later that they're in Steve's apartment when he'll take notice of the pictures of Steve's family, his artwork, and himself at different ages of his life on the walls.

"Nothing, James."

"Oh, no no no, Bucket, don't just try to 'nothing' it now. Boyfriend? Since when?"

The genuine curiosity and lack of judgment towards Bucky's love life makes him turn a hue short of beet red.

"Is it nothing?" James wonders, quirking an eyebrow up his temple while his head tilts knowingly at his cousin. "That blush on your face tells me otherwise."

"No, it's not nothing."

"Elaborate, please. Haven't seen you in two years and you've gone and got y'self a boyfriend. Tell me about him."

He loves telling people about Steve, but he didn't know why he's suddenly so squeamish and shy in the face of his cousin. Bucky know James accepts him as he is, and he's proud to show Steve off, but at this moment, he's silent and tight lipped, red in the face and burning up like a teenager with a crush.

"His name is Steve," Bucky announces. "This is his apartment actually. I live across the hall."

"I'm guessing that's how you guys met." James sits at a dining room chair with Carter's head planted between his thighs, adoringly staring up at him for more attention.

"Yeah, it was something like a fairytale when I first saw him?" He phrases it as a question since he's still in awe of the whole event ever happening. "He's from here so if you think I'm a smartass city boy now, wait 'till you meet him. He's a sassy little shit, but what can I say? He's my everything. I'm obsessed with him."

"And Mischka likes him?"

"Likes him?" Bucky repeats and rolls his eyes with such enthused exaggeration that his head circles around. Steadily laughing with James, he continues with "That girl is in love with him. She loves her some Steve."

"And you?"

"Me what?"

"You love him?"

Yes, with all my fucking heart. The sigh Bucky exhales is an annoyance short of a scoff, fighting to snort at the subject and just shrugs instead. "There ain't a bone in my body that doesn't believe I haven't been in love with him since our second date back in September."

"What made you so sure?"

The silence between them rings louder than any other sound, voice, or thought drumming in Bucky's ears and head at the moment. If he weren't so terrified of his fast feelings for Steve this would be easier to express to someone who isn't his song book.

"He kissed me," he answers simply, pausing as though it made sense but continues when James gazes at him, perplexed. "I already knew he had a heart of gold and that he was everything I didn't know I needed in a partner, but the fact that his lips felt like velvet even with spaghetti sauce on them, I knew he was the one. And that was before we slept together."

"This dude's got you so sprung."

"Oh, you got no idea."

"How'd that manage to happen?"

Their relationship happened too quickly for Bucky to pinpoint where he found himself so far in Steve's ass he can see out of his mouth. One day he saw him and next he was head over heels in love; everything else is a blissful daydream he never wants to forget. The narrative is written in every line, wrinkle, gesture, and mannerism on his face and body. His aura is practically glowing, and James knows everything he already needs to. He wouldn't be himself if he didn't joke about it though.

"Oh, he's got a big dick," he assumes bluntly, and Bucky jumps from his seat to harmlessly smack his cousin's arm, blushing at the very true accusation.

"Shut the hell up! I'm not so shallow to stay with someone 'cus he's got a big dick."

"Which he probably does-"

"I am so not discussing Steve's allegedly large penis with you. You don't hear me asking about the size of Lizzie's tits!" Bucky's frame vibrates with resistance as he holds back his laughter.

"That's 'cus my wife would smack you before you could even think about asking about her tits." James points up at Bucky, who is ready to hit him again if he decides to remain a cheeky asshole, towering over him. "And I said 'big' not 'large.' What are we talking, like, eight or nine inches? Double digits! That swagger in your walk says he's at least packing a foot long-"

"Did you come here to terrorize me about my boyfriend's penis or did you actually wanna make this birthday better?" Bucky sits at a dining room chair and runs his aimlessly fingers through his hair.

"Better, huh?"

"Yeah, everyone's busy doing adult shit today, so I was planning on a horror flick marathon and a pizza until tonight. Steve and Becca are taking me to dinner at this fancy place in the city - hey, do you wanna come?"

James clicks his teeth and shakes his head in regret. "Ah, Bucky, I wish I could but I gotta get back to Jersey tonight to get back home before tomorrow night. Jemma's got a softball game."

Disappointed but understanding, Bucky nods and shrugs it off. "Oh, it's for a good cause. How are my favorite nieces?" He asks now.

James has two twin girls born about a year and some months before Mischka, named after their grandmother, Jemma Simmons-Proctor. Jemma and Simone are great kids who Bucky should consider taking Mischka to see over the upcoming summer. Indiana summers are everything like he remembered them.

"Those two are driving me insane. Glad I had 'em when I did."

"You and Lizzie thinking about more?"

"Gimme until thirty, and I'll let you know. You?"

"Oh, hell yeah. Steve and I are gonna knock out at least four before we're both fifty. Get us a big ass house in the suburbs, two dogs, a white picket fence, and house wife moms as neighbors who love to hate our gay asses 'cus we won't join their book club."

"Fucking sap this guy's made you."

"I'm not even gonna deny it."

James's expression is reverent, unknowingly looking at Bucky this way because he's proud and can't believe his cousin made it this far despite all the turmoil he and Becca had faced as children.

"I'm happy for you, cuz," he admits and sighs. "Now, how 'bout we go somewhere, eh?"


End file.
